


What Dreams May Come

by Filidhe



Series: The Long Road Home [1]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Caleb Widogast Deserves Nice Things, Caleb Widogast-centric, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-15 17:53:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 22,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29440032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Filidhe/pseuds/Filidhe
Summary: A haunted wizard, too many questions and not enough sleep leads to a crisis within the Mighty Nein, and some very unconventional solutions, and surprising, unexpected discoveries, about himself, his chosen family, and how his past was affecting his present and his future.
Relationships: Beauregard Lionett & Caleb Widogast, Beauregard Lionett/Yasha, Caleb Widogast/Yasha, Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast, Fjord/Jester Lavorre
Series: The Long Road Home [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2162463
Comments: 30
Kudos: 95





	1. What Dreams May Come

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline wise, this is post-lots of episodes (edit: all caught up, and currently swamped by so many plot bunnies, but I'ma get this story done before I indulge...), but hopefully is not contradicted by later episodes. FIRST DRAFT WARNING, even after edits, this is definitely not going to end up canon-compliant, but meh, it's fanfic, bitches!
> 
> Like Liam O'Brian, Caleb's player, I love me some deep tragedy, but everyone deserves a happy ending, or a few. I just like to take my time getting there.

Caleb woke to fire, the dry, acrid scent of burning strong in his nostrils and the familiar feel of hollowness echoing through his veins as when he had just pushed through a spell. He bolted upright, another incantation on his lips, but there was no threat. His frown deepened, and he let the incipient spell fade as he realised he was alone in his tower room, and there was no threat to be answered. His inner time sense told him Rosohna's false dawn was more than three hours away, and the Nein would be asleep for hours yet. 

Caleb pulled himself out of his bed, stepping down off the platform and tightening the tie of his blue pajama pants. He had liberated them from Beauregard’s unclaimed laundry pile a few months ago, and as she had not noticed, kept them to sleep in. He snagged the robe Essek had given him at the winter solstice off a hook on the bedpost and wrapped himself in its silken depths to fend off the chill of the small hours. He swayed silently over to the tall window and sleepily gazed out over the diamond-flecked, perpetually nightlit rooftops and gardens of the district. The city of Rosohna seemed to sleep, better than he had, at any rate. Without looking, Caleb flicked an incantation at his small kettle, lighting the flame beneath it, even as he reached into the aether with his mind to find his cat. Frumpkin appeared on the shelf beside the window, his golden eyes lambent in the pre-dawn darkness, and his fur velvet under Caleb’s hands.

“Guten morgen, Herr Frumpkin. Und wie gehts, eh?” The cat pushed his ginger head into Caleb’s palm and purred, but added a questioning mrow to the end of his vocalisation. “Ach, I don’t know. It must have been just a dream.”

He closed his eyes, a frown furrowing his brow with concentration as he tracked his memory back. The night had ended well, with Yasha and Beauregard chasing each other up the stairs to their room, Veth heading home to Yeza and Luc with the cookies that she and Caduceus had made that evening, and Fjord and Jester debating the merits of adopting an orphan from Zadash or another wartorn region versus trying for their own child. Caduceus had proposed this solution to their issue earlier that week, to the surprise of everyone of the Mighty Nein, but it was not such a poor idea, even after deeper thought. Caleb could only imagine how having a child around the XhorHaus would affect things. Veth would have a better idea, as she was the only one of them to actually be a parent, yet; he would ask her about it. He liked children, though. They made a house feel like a home.

After the breakup of the group into their separate activities, he had gone up to his workshop, his mind still entirely too busy to consider sleep, although his body was quite tired. They had only just returned that day from the last outing to the Menagerie Coast, and for all that he enjoyed his time on board the ship, it was hardly a relaxing vacation of a trip. He had emptied his spell slots every day but the last, and such endless casting does take a toll on a wizard, especially one who does not take proper care of himself at the best of times. But a few thaumaturgical conundrums had reared their heads on the trip, and Caleb’s never-still mind was puzzling out solutions to them.

He was pulled out of his reminiscence by the kettle's whistle, and Caleb moved quickly across the room, measured tea into the steeper and then pouring the hot water into his tall brown mug, adding a dollop of honey to melt throughout. He sometimes felt guilty for his sweet tooth, for he saw it as childish, but for early not-quite-morning, and with none of his friends the wiser, he could indulge, just a little.

He moved back to the window and warmed his narrow hands on the pleasing texture of the mug, recalling that Fjord had shrugged carelessly as he gave the package to Caleb that midwinter. “Dunno if you’ll like it, friend, but it reminded me of you so I got it.” The mug was a reddish brown earthenware and inscribed with a bit of Zadashian doggerel about cats and mice, with a little figural of a cat very like Frumpkin curled up by a hearth fire. Caleb caressed the cat shape with his thumb and stroked down Frumpkin’s back at the same time, going back to his faultless memories of the evening.

The evening had crawled into night and Caleb had nearly fallen asleep a few times over his books when he finally extinguished the candles and headed to bed. His usual ablutions and the second form of the Cobalt Soul mind exercises Beauregard had taught him helped settle his mind for sleep, and he had slept and dreamt...

He could taste blood, and his nose and cheek ache, one hand hangs useless at his side, a searing pain in that shoulder, and his spellbook in the mud at his feet as he backs away from the shadowy assailants, his fear a loud sharpness in his mind. Gott in Himmel, let this work! His good hand reaching into his components pouch and finding the packets, pulling forth a smear of guano and the yellow powder to slap against his chest and creating from that interaction a sphere of fire! He pulls it out, using his chest as the other surface to shape the magic, and feeling the heat of it so unusually close to his face, before directing it out, right into the middle of the attackers. Seeing it expand as it draws thaumaturgical energy from his body, through a chain of fire, honing his fear to a razor’s edge that cuts him from inside until the ball of fire completely engulfed all the strangely familiar figures threatening him. Then, as he looked, the line of sight through the flames cleared enough for him to see the face of his sweet friend Jester, her mouth locked open in a rictus scream as the flames swallowed her-

“Nein! Ach, scheisse!” the wizard yelped, as he dropped his mug of tea, shocked and bewildered. Why would he be flinging fireballs at his friends? What was this dream? His breath came hard, his heartbeat thumping through him, rattling his thin frame, but no more than his mind was rattled by the memory of the dream. Frumpkin pushed insistently at his hands, and Caleb gathered the fae creature into his arms, and stumbled back to the kettle stand, to grab a towel to clean up the mess. No wonder he had woken so abruptly, such a bad dream! 

Suddenly needing to know she was in fact alright, he left his chambers and headed down the spiral stair to Jester’s quarters, two full turns down. He stopped himself before he knocked, recalling the earliness of the hour, and instead rested his head against her door, calming his breathing and his racing heart to see if he could hear beyond.

It was no good: his senses were too weak. Frumpkin’s, on the other hand... He set his cat down and placed his request in the familiar’s mind. He rested one hand on the door, in lieu of Beauregard’s shoulder, on whom he usually leaned whenever he performed these out-of-body exercises. 

Frumpkin did his aetherial slide between the particles of the door and silently stalked into Jester’s room, carrying Caleb’s consciousness as a passenger. Looking out of the cat’s eyes and hearing with his ears, Caleb saw the curiously low perspective change as Frumpkin leapt up gently onto the bench at the foot of the bed. He could hear alternating breaths, deep and rhythmic in sleep, and looked across the bed to see the jutting shape of Fjord’s square shoulder, and in the shadow of his larger body, Jester’s sweetly curved form, cupped in his protective embrace. They were deeply, peacefully, safe and asleep. 

At Caleb’s behest, Frumpkin settled himself on the pillow beside Jester, curled up into a convenient catloaf, and stayed there as the wizard withdrew from his familiar. //Let me know if anything changes// he bid the fae, before continuing down the stairs, unsure what he was seeking, but mollified at least for now as to Jester’s safety. So strange a dream!

He found himself outside the kitchen, his robe pulled tight about him against the chill in the halls. The hearth was warm though, and it was the work of but a minute to stoke the fire and put another kettle on the hob. At least he had not broken his mug upstairs, dropping in panic like that. And why had he felt as though he had actually cast something, when he woke? So far as Caleb knew, casting without volition was not possible, in point of fact: a major arcane precept is that it takes will to take real, magical affect. One hand rubbed at the palm of the other as he considered the problem, and waited for his water to boil.

Caduceus found him there in the kitchen, more than an hour later, ginger head down on folded arms on the table, asleep beside a rapidly cooling cup of tea and his brow still deeply creased by a frown.


	2. Timing Is Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A morning conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This conversation was remarkably easy to write. Beau and Yasha have such distinct voices.

Yasha woke with a slow stretch against the pillows, brawny arms up over her head and her hair a luxuriant, ombre tangle. She opened her eyes when she heard Beau’s chuckle, looked across to see her propped up on one arm, that sexy, lithe frame turned towards her. “Good morning gorgeous!” Beau drawled. “About damned time you woke up!”

“Oh and I suppose you and Fjord have already had your five mile run?” Yasha smiled lazily up at her lover.

“Nah, you wore me out last night.”

Yasha scoffed, as if such a thing were possible. Monks train for years in stamina, and Beau was an Expositor, easily able to go for days without rest, drawing on her ki to sustain her. Not that she would need it in bed, although... that brought an interesting question to Yasha’s mind. “Can you use your ki in bed?” she asked Beau.

The slender eyebrows shot towards Beau’s hairline. “I dunno. Never tried. Never needed to... but, it’s an intriguing idea...” 

Seeing the expression on the monk’s face, Yasha immediately regretted asking. To forestall any experimenting, she pulled her legs free of the covers and climbed out of bed. Beauregard looked up at her, and saw her hopes of a morning romp in the bed dashed. Yasha leaned over and kissed her to mollify her. “We can try later. I am hungry.”

“You’re always hungry,” Beauregard grumbled.

“Actually, before we go downstairs,” Yasha spoke as she scrubbed her face with a damp cloth from the washbasin, “I wanted to ask you something.”

“Okay?” Beau clambered out of bed herself, and performed her usual slow series of stretches.

“You know how Fjord and Jester are talking lately?” She finished washing her face and gave a desultory brush of her teeth.

“About a kid? Yeah,” Beau’s voice carried no hint of her emotions, so Yasha forged on ahead. 

“Yes. Children. It’s something we have not talked about.”

Beau acknowledged this, and continued her stretches, listening.

“So, what I wanted to ask you, was if you wanted children yourself? I mean, eventually?” Yasha’s face was noncommittal, but the monk could tell she was trying very hard not to let her expression reveal her feelings.

Beau paused, glancing across at her lover standing at the washstand, looking in the mirror as she applied the pigment dust to her forehead and brow. Beau smiled, aware of the courage it had taken to open this discussion. The desire to have children is a make or break point for many relationships, and Yasha lacked Beau’s insight into her, the way she understood Yasha. Her training and hyper awareness left most of her companions with fewer secrets than they might realise.   
,   
She pondered her answer for only a few moments. “Yeah. Actually yeah, I do want kids.. " She reached into the clothes press and pulled out a short tunic and her arm wraps. Her midlength djellaba hung on the back of the door, beside Yasha's greatsword. "Meeting my little brother and getting through that whole thing with my family... And Luc is adorbs, you know? So I mean, yeah.” She watched as Yasha’s shoulders lifted in profound relief, and half-smiled. “You?”

There was no hesitation. “I do, too.”

“Well awesome! So then we just need to figure out when!” She finished dressing and poked through her notebook, looking at the order of go for the day.

“And how...?” Yasha hedged.

Beau laughed. “The usual way, I would hope!”

Yasha looked back at her, confused. “Of course, the usual way, but I mean... Maybe not how, but who...”

Beau rocked back onto her heels and considered it, looking up from her journal. “Oh, yeah. That’s a good question. Well, we know a lot of people... who do we think would help us out with this?”

They heard one set of footsteps trotting lightly up the stairs, and two pairs coming down, one dancing and one stepping more deliberately on the stone treads. There was an indistinct murmur of voices in greeting, and a peal of Jester’s infectious laughter, moving away, and then silence in the corridor beyond their room

“I want it to be someone we know, and who can be involved if they want to be. You know?” Yasha had clearly given it some thought.

“Sure. I get that,” Beau agreed. “I mean, sex is fun and stuff, but it’s sure easier with people you know and care about. And this is a bit bigger than just some fun in bed."

Yasha nodded her agreement. “So, who do you think?”

“Well, I’m not sure we are compatible, you know physically, with Caduceus...” 

“That would be a very... colourful person.” Yasha agreed. “And Fjord has Jester,” Yasha added, “I’m not sure she shares.”

Beau considered. For all their blue friend’s flirtatiousness, she did seem to have settled pretty firmly on the big bluff half-orc. “Doubt it. That leaves...” Their eyes met across the room. They were interrupted by a quiet knock on their door, and a familiar, slender wizard’s voice called their names.

Caleb opened the door at Beau’s reply, and leaned his head in to say in his soft, Zemnian accent, “Caduceus sent me to tell you breakfast is ready.” 

Beau met his blue eyes with her own level gaze, and let her eyes trail all the way down and back up to assess him, head to foot. His hair was rumpled, his eyes a little hollow, but neither of these things was unusual. He was in his usual brown pants and a yoked cream shirt, unbuttoned at the cuff and rolled up to the elbows, and he carried two books and an inkpot with a quill precariously perched across the top of it. She nodded, as Yasha chuckled and acknowledged Caleb’s message. He looked confused at the mood of the room, but gave a small bow of farewell and closed the door as he withdrew.

Beau grinned really wide as she met her lover’s smiling eyes. “Perfect timing!”


	3. In the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another long day, another late night, and things are not getting better...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ever had one of those nights?

It was a long day of moving about the city of Rosohna, delivering the messages and items they had been tasked with, replenishing supplies and materials. Caleb threw most of his cut into parchment and the specific inks used for spell transcription, and a few necessary components he was continually running low on. He made a mental note to visit Pumat Sol’s as soon as possible to exchange the items he had wanted for whatever of the rarer components Caleb had asked him to keep an eye out for. Maybe he could recommend another supplier as well... With every new spell requiring different options and items, some consumable, others reusable, it was an established part of his routine to check in at every magical shop in every city of town they passed through. That meant Caleb was chronically short of cash.

When the group returned to the XhorHaus, the wizard went to check in with his erstwhile dunamantic instructor, the confusing Essek Thelyss, and made an appointment with him for later in the week to catch up, and discuss some specific spell applications. Essek was distracted, but seemed pleased to see Caleb, and for his part, added a recommendation for a local paper maker who specialised in supporting the local arcane market.

After the long day on his feet, the routine of settling for rest only added to the wizard’s tiredness. Caleb set his satchel in its usual space, undressed and approached his bed with relief, laying down heavily. He closed his eyes and folded his hands across his midriff, beginning running through the meditations that Beauregard had taught him. The enforced stillness worked to channel his attention into quieting the constant rush of information in his brain, and Caleb was grateful for the calming effect. His mind was usually an endless loop of sorting the sometimes-overwhelming incoming stimuli, but the meditations were helping and without much pause his tired body succumbed to the stillness and sleep claimed him.

Pain, fear, uncertainty, too many options! He could feel his heightened fear pressing heavily on his mind, weakening his knees and making him wish for some cover, any cover, for all he was worth! His left shoulder is immobile, a sharp spike of agony every time he moves the arm even a little. Smoke and ash roils about the room, constricting Caleb’s lungs and making his eyes sting, as he searches for some safety, any thing to hide or cower behind, when a shape looms out of the confusion of smoke, and a whistling noise presages the sweep of an enormous, awful blade towards him. He falls back, feels the post at his back, some heavy piece of furniture preventing him from escaping, but he drops! The hideous discoloured metal of a fearsome swordblade bites into the post just above his head, a spray of splinters stinging down on him. He draws his good hand back, shaping the spell his lips were already calling into being. His chest is full, power cascading out from the centre of him, and as the sword-wielder steps through the smoke he looks up full into Yasha’s raging face, but the spell is already rocketing forth from his hand to spear into his friend’s throat! Her raging bellow is silenced by the acid arrow from his hand, and her old wings of the Fallen shadow her face as she falls back behind the smoke...

Caleb came back to his senses, crouched, backed up against the end of his bed, in his room, still hours to go before the night’s end. His back pressed hard to a pristine bedpost, he tried to take stock, but there was too much confusion and darkness between him and understanding. //What was happening here?// The air was clear of smoke and debris but for the sparking aftermath of Caleb’s offensive spell. He hyperventilated in remembered terror and the cognitive shock that elements of the dream had happened, and the image in his horrified mind's eye, of Yasha’s throat, beautiful even in rage, being consumed by his acid attack. His veins ached with the power draw that had definitely occurred, and he looked down to see the remnants of an adder’s gut and an aromatic green powder drifting to the floor at his bare feet. There was a significant splash of bright green arcane acid eating into the floor, exactly where the dream figure of Yasha had loomed over him. 

An instant’s thought sent his fae feline to check if Yasha was home and safe, and when the reply came in the affirmative, he left Frumpkin there, perched on the sill and keeping a watchful eye on the sleeping bodies of the Northerner and her monk lover. Incongruously, his memory tripped back, and he felt the imposing warmth of her hug, when she had wrapped her arms around him on the beach at Rumblecusp, all those months ago after they had discussed her new-found angelic wings.

Caleb collapsed to his rump and pulled his knees up into his chest. Knowing that Yasha was not in fact involved in whatever odd nocturnal event seemed to be haunting him, he began to reclaim his calm. His breathing gradually slowed, and his hands rubbed hard at his forehead, as he tried to wrap his brain around what was happening, how he came to be dreaming about attacking his friends, needing to defend himself from them, and how it was even possible to be throwing unprepared spells from a sleeping state? In the wake of the fear came all too many questions. He watched as the pool of acid gradually dissipated. 

He rocked up to his feet, the chill in his room finally reaching through his confusion. He slipped on Essek’s gift over his shoulders again, and very briefly considered sending him a message, but as quickly discarded the idea. There was a tentative truce between the wizards, as they felt their way through to a new trust, and Caleb did not feel safe enough to entrust this new problem to the Drow. He could get some input, but he was not going to lay his worries bare before him just yet.

He moved tiredly about his room. He had had less than two hours of sleep before the rude awakening. His pouch of components hung off the chair nearest the head of the bed, unclasped as though he had just rummaged through it, but when Caleb went to check, the envelope of adder’s gut was not even in the section. His faultless memory was clear that he had removed it when he had added the lodestone and stone dust needed for evoking Disintegration. 

He stepped through the archway into his workroom, and yes, there it was, in the correct drawer of his components cabinet, properly labeled and everything. Another sudden pulse of anxiety hit him and he ran his index and middle fingers along every other shelf and drawer of the cabinet, counting, noting, checking by touch and sight the contents against his internal inventory: everything was there, exactly as it needed to be. This two-fold method of confirmation had been ingrained at the Soltryce Academy, and Caleb found the familiar patterns of the action settled his thoughts.

He moved back into his bedroom, shot his bed a look of disgust, but straightened the disarray out of ingrained habit. There were still several hours left in the night, but Caleb knew there was no way he would find repose safely, so he dressed and took up his notebook, heading down to the library he shared with Beauregard and Jester, to peruse a few books that might help him understand what could be happening.

He lit the table candles in the old-fashioned way, for the first time in a long time not feeling safe to flick off a simple cantrip. He opened the book on dream interpretation, soon flipping from it to another, titled Omens of Understanding. As he looked over the various volumes in front of him, Caleb massaged his forearms, feeling the deep ache in the arcane pathways that signified that whatever other oddities the cast had possessed, it had not been a low-level working, and that disturbed him most of all.


	4. Rude Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three nights, three dreams, and Caleb's getting closer to the edge...

He had had a full day’s work at the Archive with Beauregard, during which time she kept shooting him weirdly assessing looks, although Caleb was too tired to have the presence of mind to ask what she was about. Home at last, he crawled into bed after a full meal, physically and mentally exhausted. The day’s researches were fruitful in some regards, but frustrating in others, and Caleb fell asleep thinking he should ask after classes in Arcanum history at the Cobalt Soul, just to ensure he had enough background in the era to even know where to look for some things.

Suddenly and again, his mouth is thick with smoke, and his face in dull throbbing pain from some unrecalled contusion. His left arm is still useless, and Caleb looks down to see a crossbow bolt pinning it through the muscle into the joint. It is excruciating, and the quarrel was fletched with green and yellow feathers, just like Nott’s... 

The fear and confusion roil in his belly, feeling like knives of acid like those of the Inevitable End, but it is not that shadowy figure he is fighting. Suddenly a bright blade came swinging out of the dark and narrowly misses Caleb’s ear as he bends backwards to avoid it! It comes back around, and the figure wielding it becomes clear through the shadows: square-jawed, green skinned, with the familiar white shock in his short dark hair. Fjord’s eyes are narrowed, his mouth in a hard grimace of anger, and his chestplate is covered in a hoarfrost of ice: Armor of Agathys, the knowledge of which chills Caleb to the marrow with fear. Oh, scheisse, this is going to hurt! 

He uses his working hand to grab his disabled one, forming the shape with his fingers and calling on the magic to jet forth from his hands as he cries out the incantation: “Kair tangus miopiar!” The magic spews forth out of his hands at his bidding, but Fjord is standing right there, and Caleb uses the last of his momentum to slam both hands onto the warrior’s chest, ensuring the maximum damage in his spell. The attack surrounds the half-orc in a cone of roiling flames. Fjord’s cry of rage turns to agony as the flames burn around and then into him, stealing his breath as they invade his lungs. In horror, Caleb watches as the agony grows and the life fades from his friend’s eyes, but then the icy enchantment on Fjord’s armour explodes, and shards of ice impale the wizard’s hands and arms-

“SHIELD!” Caleb screamed as he rocketed awake, bolt upright, both hands before him and the sigils of protection glowing in the air between him and... the empty dark of his chamber. Gasping for air, all he could see was flame upon flame overlaid with the face of his friend, the burning walls of the house, the screams of his parents, the one laid over the other over the other like some fiery symphony of loss and guilt and shame. Struggling to maintain any semblance of sanity, he crumpled into a ball around the misery in his gut. It had been months since he had panicked at the sight of his own arcane power claiming lives, he had been so stable for so long that the abyss he could see yawning before him was purely terrifying.

Mein Gott, what is happening to him? Without hesitation he summoned Frumpkin, and when the fae cat tried to rub up against him, Caleb pushed him away. “Go! Check on them! Please.”

While his familiar roamed the halls of their house, Caleb grabbed the edges of his bed in both hands to anchor himself as he slid into Frumpkin’s senses, poking his head into each of the Nein’s rooms to check that they were all well and good. Caduceus was in the hot tub room tending the garden, Yasha and Beau were up in the lounge, talking and laughing late into the night, and Fjord and Jester- Caleb withdrew immediately, feeling like he had intruded most impolitely. He sent his cat to look in on Veth’s house a few blocks away. Her family was also fine. No alarms, and no need for such, but the tension did not leave his thin frame.

Caleb found himself rocking a bit on the wide bed, finding some soothing balance in the repetitive motion, and rhythmically clenching and unclenching his fists. //I am not catatonic, I am in control, this is what control is, I am here, we are all here, it was a dream, a stupid dream// He let this chain of thoughts repeat as a mantra, each phrase gleaming with truth, like a diamond flipping over and over and over and over in his hands. 

After a time, he found his breathing quieting, and still exhausted, sleep reached out to claim him again, but the awful image and intense pain of the dream prevented him from finding any rest. The XhorHaus was at peace, everywhere except the wizard’s tower room. He lay back down, pulling Frumpkin into a still-somewhat manic embrace, but he did not sleep.

Eventually, exhausted, Caleb rose just before what passes for dawn in the eternal night of Xhorhas, and padded quietly downstairs to the hot tub, only after much consideration, very carefully using two simple spells to fill and heat the water. He still felt the phantom shards of ice shooting into him, cutting through the scars Trent Ikithon’s torture had left in his arms. When he looked down, there are no new scars, beyond the marks he regularly added, in his unconscious scratching at them, but certainly nothing like the wounds he’d taken in his dream. He checked over his left shoulder as well, and saw no sign of injury where the dream crossbow bolt had pinned his arm down. It had been fletched just like Veth’s... 

The water was hot and soothing, and Caleb caught himself nodding off in its comfortable depth. He caught himself a third time, and rather than risk drowning, clambered out.

His exhausted mind wracked with confusion and turmoil and no small amount of pain, Caleb dried himself off, reclothed himself in his pajamas and robe, but he was too tired to climb back up the stairs. He sat down heavily, and then lay down, curling his body around Frumpkin on the floor of the hot tub room, and using a towel as a pillow, he eventually drifted off to a warm, if damp sleep.

This time when Caduceus found him, there was a deep concern behind the Firbolg’s eyes as he woke him up and sent him back upstairs to make himself presentable for his day.


	5. Irresistible Impulse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Interview with a Drow, exercises in trust.

“I am so... grateful for your help, Essek,” Caleb met the Drow’s pale eyes, but did not note how quickly he looked away. “I have resources, but by far, your expertise is beyond value.” He rubbed the back of his neck, and slid his arms out of his coat before grabbing the satchel of scrolls and books up off the floor of Essek’s foyer. “I am sorry I am later than I planned to be... I did not, erm, sleep well.”

The dark-skinned mage could not help but smile at his young human compatriot. He did look tired, and his Zemnian accent was thicker, a noted side-effect of exhaustion in Caleb. Sleep was something he himself needed only rarely. “No need to apologise. It gave me time to assemble a few things. Now, can you tell me more about this spell?” 

Caleb nodded and pulled out his notebook, handing it to Essek as he gathered up the rest of his things. “Er ja, it is an, uhm, alteration of the Mystical Mansion: I have lengthened the duration, because we tend to need shelter for longer than the original spell was designed for, but also I played around with the rooms and such, and made it, eh, basically a customised mm, Realm of Requirements for the Nein, und, erh, any guests we may have.” He spoke very quickly as he often did when in the engrossing throes of thaumaturgical experimentation. 

The Shadowhand of the Bright Court was always fascinated by the intense flare of Caleb’s intellect, and cherished the few times they had worked together. //He does not know how brilliant he is// Essek realised, as he guided Caleb’s train of thought into a more productive line of questioning with a simple observation on the work so far. //It is so sad the Cerberus Assembly bungled his training so badly. I cannot imagine what a mage he would have been if his gifts had been developed properly!//

“So that part of the spell seems fairly complete. You need my advice regarding...?”

“It costs too much to invoke,” Caleb answered, “Material components, ja, but also time, und my energy. I should like to revise it to something more... economical, perhaps? Und also,” he pulled out the blank parchments, “Inscribe it to several scrolls, so that I may send them along with the Nein should I... should we... erm...” Caleb’s voice faltered then, and Essek wondered what he was trying to say, or not to say, as the case may be.

“Well, let’s head up to the workshop and take a look, shall we?” Essek ushered Caleb into his lair, following him up the crystal stairs and unashamedly admiring the view as Caleb ascended a few stairs ahead of him. Oblivious, as always, Caleb chattered on about his plans for the spell, and something about boats, too. There was a slightly manic edge to his voice, and Essek had to rein in his curiosity about the young wizard’s somewhat chaotic state of mind.

They spent the morning going over the notes and experimenting with editing the spell to take fewer resources when cast. Essek had almost talked Caleb into investing it into an object rather than scrolls, which as single-use items would only defer the investments needed, when his mealtime alarum went off, a series of gentle chimes set to a tone that penetrated all but the deepest research haze. He roused Caleb to take a break and eat with him. 

They made their way into the dining room where Essek had hosted the Mighty Nein for breakfast all those months back, although Caleb would have been perfectly happy to eat in the workroom.

“I must insist. It is a very poor habit to bring food into one’s working space, albeit a worse one to not eat at all.”

Caleb nodded ruefully. “I am very guilty of that, ja.”

Essek laughed deep in his throat, “We all are, my friend.”

Caleb looked down and took another bite of his lunch, then cleared his throat, screwing up his courage to find the right words. “Ehm, I am wondering, Essek, if you have ever encountered one who can cast spells in their sleep?”

Essek blinked in surprise. “I have not! I suppose it’s possible. Cantrips, certainly, and perhaps any spell with indistinct somatics, that was very well practiced...”

Caleb’s face darkened as he took in this information. “Ah. I had hoped you would say not. I always understood volition is a required element of casting-”

“I mean, it is, but not always...” Essek retracted “Sleep casting is theoretically possible: with precise and frequent repetition, the arcane pathways could burn all the way into reflex actions. But as so few mages ever cast the same sequences frequently enough, I cannot recall having heard of a case.”

Caleb’s appetite failed him and he set the last of the biscuit back onto the plate. “But with those things in place, then... it is possible?”

Essek pondered the problem further. “The caster would have to both have locked those gestures and words into their muscle memory, to say nothing of having the components to hand, be able to choose the precise ones for the specific working without conscious effort... and then also have the stimulus in their sleep to respond with that exact reflex,” he scoffed gently. “In the case of a military warcaster, who runs through a repertoire of spells day by day, I could see it being a potential risk, but I can’t imagine...” 

Caleb’s fists were folded in front of his mouth and his hands were incessantly rubbing one then the other, then worrying at his stubbled jaw.

Essek glanced up and saw the deep concern etched in Caleb’s expression and the anxiety in his movements. “I mean, it is possible, but most unlikely. I have known many that drop cantrips in their sleep, but more complex arcane exercises, I honestly have never heard of one.”

“I have had a few incidents,” Caleb confessed. “I did not want to concern you with this, but I am... worried.” 

"Incidents. Casting in your sleep?!"

"Ja. Erm, bad dreams, versteht? Und when I wake I am holding ready, or have already cast."

Essek's eloquent brow raised toward his silver hairline and he set aside his plate and moved to join Caleb on the low settee. "Cast which spell?"

Caleb steeled himself for the interrogation. "So far? Fireball, Melf's Arrow, und Shield. I know for certain those last two, but suspect the first as well." He described the circumstances of the events, omitting both the exact nature of the dream that triggered all three, and, since he was not completely certain, and that at least one casting was component-less, at least until he could more objectively confirm it. "Und not lower expenditures. Melf's was at least fourth."

"What do you base that on?" Essek asked.

"The feel," Caleb replied, "You know, how the draw feels, flowing out...?"

"You feel it?" Essek was very interested. "Physically?"

Caleb turned his head slightly to the side, expressing a semantic disagreement. "Not so physical," and he gestured to his arms, "but I feel the use of the, ehm, arcane channels."

Essek wondered if the human wizard was aware how the nature of his education was being betrayed by his unconscious assumptions. Only Empire-trained mages were sensitized in the way Caleb was, and his casual assumption of a shared experience told Essek that he had not been exposed to very many other schools of thought.

"I fully understand your concern!” Essek reassured him. "And well, Shield is certainly not a problem, in this context," he offered gently. "No harm in that spell, but the others..." he paused, his elegant brown furrowing in consideration. "We could perhaps work on an alarum spell, readied in your space until you cast after a certain point, or with a specific trigger, that would wake you if it detects you casting. I confess I already have a few passive alarums like that throughout my home, like the meal bell." A tiny flick of his smallest finger and the silvery chime was heard again. "It would be a matter of moments to set up for you."

"Ja, ja, that's a good idea..."

“I think the removal of any components from immediate access should do most of the work at removing the risk of something... catastrophic happening.”

Caleb nodded his agreement, but did not trust his voice to answer or continue the topic of conversation. He sat on the possibility he had cast a high level offensive spell at least once without components.

As they finished their food, Caleb attempted to apologise for monopolising so much of Essek’s time, but he shrugged off the apology with an elegant lift of his shoulder. “I am not deceiving you when I say, Caleb: it is never a hardship to discuss magical matters with you.”

“Why is that?” Caleb asked. “I mean, you have must so many fellows from your own schooling, I am sure, so many who must provide you more stimulating companionship-”

“Not so, I am afraid.” Essek’s smile was gentle, but also conveyed some deep loneliness. “My position in the Court, my lifestyle... choices, and the limited company I do choose to keep.” he gestured wryly in the direction of the XhorHaus, alluding to Caleb’s own crew of misfits and outcasts, “None of these lend themselves to an extensive network of mage friends. Or, any other kinds of friends. As I told you in Nicodranas, you are pretty much all those I’d consider as friends. I am sure you see this too, in your line of work.”

“I have seen both, though,” Caleb replied. “I know whereof you speak, but there were, in the past, whole communities of casters, in some places, who collaborated on projects and who achieved great things, far beyond what those of us who more jealously guard our discoveries might be able to accomplish. Even just in working closely with you-”

“It is working closely with you that I enjoy,” Essek admitted. “You... shine, Caleb. Your gifts are a bright spark, and to witness you nurse that into so many wonderful things is... well... " he smiled rather than finish the sentence. "That I can be even a little helpful is very fulfilling for me.”

Caleb said nothing, only met his serious gaze with his own. The bright blue of the human caster’s eyes pierced right to the core of Essek. His bemused and somewhat sad expression melted the Drow’s heart and created a pool of magma at his core, drive and desire at war within him.

When they were done, and Caleb was prepared to make his way back to the ZhorHaus, Essek did not hand Caleb his coat, but rather used his skill with telekinesis to swing it around the slender mage himself, and settled it over his shoulders with a stroke of his pale hand. The grace of his movements left Caleb momentarily speechless. Essek stood quite close as they maneouvered the door open, and Caleb noted he smelled faintly of expensive, exotic spices and cold water hitting colder metal. 

“Erm, uh, danke-” Caleb tried to speak, when his words were interrupted by Essek’s mouth softly covering his own. Caleb’s lips parted in surprise and he felt the tiniest caress of a hot tongue-tip against the sensitive skin of his inner lip. He held himself stock still, frozen in shock, for he had absolutely no idea how he could or should respond. 

Essek’s warm mouth rested on his for a moment, a moment more, and then another, and Caleb felt his lips soften and move, and then they were withdrawn. He was surprised to find he had closed his eyes, so he opened them again, to see Essek’s face so near his own. He could feel across his cheek a soft shudder of slowly exhaled breath. Essek’s eyes were bright and strange, agleam with a fey light Caleb had never seen before. “Essek, I-”

The Drow pulled back, surprised at his own impulse, and suddenly praying he had not made a terrible mistake, “Forgive me, Caleb!”

“I don’t... I don’t understand. Why would you... want to...?”

Essek’s eyes widened and he took another half-gliding step back. “Caleb... I am sorry, I misread you earlier, I thought-”

Confusion boiling in the wizard’s tired mind, Caleb cut him off. “I- I don’t-... I should go!” and he was down the stairs in a whirl of brown coat and striped scarf, leaving Essek bereft on his own doorstep. 

Neither of them saw the tall, broad-shouldered figure outside of the gate to Essek’s tower compound, who had only paused for a second to take his bearings, but who had seen the entire exchange.


	6. Honesty as a Policy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes when you reach a breaking point, you break. Sometimes, you break through, but sometimes, you just break.

Caleb moved about his room, unable to stop pacing, expressive hands constantly moving. His mind ran in manic circles, trying to find new angles to consider the issues. He was a Warcaster, the one school of magic study that Essek considered might have the skills to sleep-cast. He was having strange, frightening dreams that were triggering him to respond with offensive and defensive spells, and yes, with his history of specific actions and activities, he absolutely had an extensive repertoire of somatics, gestures and phrases that did not require much of his attention, with which he shaped arcane energies into familiar, and deadly patterns. 

And what was that kiss...? What did that even mean? He made a mental note to seek out some guidance on that, soon!

His anxiety ramped even higher as he considered some of the powerful tricks up his sleeves and the actual effects they could have in the close confines of the XhorHaus, but nothing terrified him as much as the awareness that his most powerful and most commonly used spells were all fiery in nature. The brief memory from the dreams of his friends’ faces surrounded by his arcane flames was almost too much for him and he had to sit and rock and hold his head for a moment, reminding himself he had control, he was fine, they were all safe, over and over until his breathing settled again.

So, as Essek had said: one easy thing to do was remove every possible spell component from his immediate surroundings. Simple, effective and would avoid some of the worst he could throw. He tacked about the room, packing all his tiny containers and envelopes of components into a satchel, put a quick locking charm on it, and stashed it in the workroom, where he would have to be awake and aware to unlock and retrieve them. It made him nervous to need this extra step, but the XhorHaus was as safe as it could be, it was not like he was likely to need them here. 

He reconsidered and selected a small group of items, reconsidered that reconsideration, and put them all back in the locking pack, and then his breath was coming so much harder than it needed to from the sustained stress and anxiety, on so little sleep. His arms ached and stung from the constant pressure of his fingers and nails, as he tried to direct his tension somewhere, anywhere. If this continued, ah Gott in Himmel, if this continued he’d be worse than useless to the Mighty Nein. He’d be a danger... a terrible danger, in the sanctity of their own home-

//Caleb, are you at home?// A tinny version of Veth’s voice rang in his ears, and the sudden flood of relief caused Caleb’s knees to buckle. He sat abruptly on his bed. //Youmayreplytothismessage.//

“Ja, I am!”

//Are you okay? You sound like you’re breathing hard! Are you having sex?//

Caleb did not dignify that with a response beyond a fleeting thought that Jester was a bad influence. “I’m fine. Well, I am not fine, but I am okay. Are you... can you come by this evening?”

//We have a meeting, don’t we?//

“Na, that is tomorrow. I was just hoping. I just need to, erm, talk to you, if you are about, though.” //Please// he couldn’t quite say it, but he thought it as loudly as he dared.

There was a pause, and then Veth whispered in his mind, sounding falsely bright: //Sounds good, I’ll see you soon!//

Veth sounded like she needed to get away from her situation as well, so perhaps they could counsel each other. Caleb found the sound of his best friend’s voice had calmed him immensely and he rose to put the kettle on to prep a couple of cups of tea. 

Veth looked sweet when she came in, a jaunty swing in her stride and Caleb’s favourite expression on her face, a glint of mischief in her eyes. He couldn’t help himself, he was just so relieved to see her, he swept her up in his arms. The wizard buried his face in the crook of her neck and just breathed her in, his breath shuddering out of him.

“Hey now, Caleb...” Veth hugged his head and stroked his loose hair, aware that when he could, he would let her go, but right now, he needed her, like this. It took longer than she had expected, but eventually he lowered them both to the floor, letting her feet touch as he sank into a crouch in front of her. 

“I am so sorry-” 

Veth put her slender finger on his mouth to shush him. “You know, you are the only one I will tolerate that from. Sometimes, from you, a big-person hug is nice. Now, what is going on?”

Caleb bowed his head before her, and sat down. “I am... struggling with something, and I need your... advice, I suppose.” He lifted his eyes to hers and she read pain in his hollow eyes. 

She sat down in front of him and pet Frumpkin under the chin, as he settled into the wizard’s lap. “Tell me all about it.”

So he did. Dreams and spells and checking up on the Nein and needing sleep, and then Essek and the kiss, and locking away his components-

“Wait, Essek kissed you?” 

“Veth, that’s not important!” Caleb chided her. “Of import is that he said a Warcaster could cast in his sleep; I could. I think, I am pretty sure, I already have!”

“Okay? So?”

Caleb tried to find the words, but with the sheer frustration of trying to translate his worries and fears into the common tongue, his face crumpled into a wordless anguish. Veth wrapped her arms around his head and they rocked in silence for a minute while he got himself under control again. It had been years since she had seen Caleb in such a state.

“I am a wreck,” Caleb confessed. “I have had no real sleep in days, und I keep waking up with a spell, either waiting, or half-cast. Spells, Veth, you understand... my spells.” He grasped her arms, looking deep into her face, praying she would understand.

“Your spells. Of course they’d be your spells, Caleb, you’re the wizard-” and she recalled the last five spells she’d seen Caleb fling forth, and the tremendous damage they had done to their targets. “Oh! Wow. Oh no.”

“Yes. Yes, now you see.” Caleb let go of her arms and sat up again. “I am casting the spells I almost always use when we are in danger. In. My. Sleep.” He glanced around the room, and Veth followed his gaze, noting everything flammable, everything delicate and breakable and precious to Caleb. That awareness then expanded to the rest of the Haus, and everything, and everyone it sheltered. Caleb’s eyes were haunted with his fears.

“Oh, I get it, Caleb. Yeah, I get why you are so worked up! So... what can we do about it?”

The wizard shook his head and rubbed at his forehead with cramped fingers. “I have tucked away all my components, everything I can use to build and cast, but it means I can’t even prepare. I feel it is especially bad to prepare... anything. Und you know what that does, to me. But I cannot study, I cannot focus without the sleep... und I fear it, my friend,” he was quiet and shaken as he laid his confession of cowardice before her. “I am... so afraid to sleep.”

“Three nights of dreams, Caleb? That’s all it took?”

“The dreams are awful, but also three nights of no control, no sleep, Nott-... Veth. Sorry,” his voice cracked on her old name, but it gave her an idea.

“No, I think right now you need Nott the Brave.” With a quick flick of her fingers, she used Seeming to pull on her old, much-hated goblin face, and to her shock, Caleb’s face absolutely crumpled into rough tears and he... Just. Broke. He clutched at her, his breath shuddering out of his lungs in a series of shaky sobs. It had been so long since he had seen that beloved face, it felt like a divine miracle, a real balm to his soul that she was there for him, right then. The wild combination of rampant fear and relief broke him down to his component parts.

Veth held him, soothed him, like she had all those years ago, and for so long. She had been his only companion on the road, on the run, his only friend in the world, while he found himself, learned how to even be a person again. Nott, the very Bravest of best friends. Since Veth had moved into the house the Nein had bought for her family, Caleb still saw her regularly, even when they weren’t roving about Exandria causing chaos, just not as often as before. Even before the current crisis, he missed her, but even he was unaware to what extent he had missed her old, feral, goblinish face.

Exhausted and emotionally overloaded, and suddenly swept by a vast ocean of relief, he clung to her and cried for a while, and she held him, a drowning man adrift in a terrifying sea of fears. Caleb’s breath eventually evened and slowed and his head gradually grew heavy in Veth’s arms. The fierce little figure dropped a kiss on the back of his neck. There was no response. “You’re asleep, aren’t you?” No change. “Of course you are.” She held him a little longer, rocking gently, but eventually her back started to get sore. “You fully plan to sleep like this for a while, huh?” 

With a capable wriggle, she maneuvered his upper body gently down to the floor, ran to the bed on her light feet to grab a pillow. When she came back, he had curled up into a tighter ball, his cat clutched in his arms, and the poor man was shivering. 

Veth tucked the pillow under his head, unclasped her cloak and laid the fabric over the wizard’s thin shoulders, folding the collar gently down under his stubbled chin. She watched him for a few moments longer, before making her way out of the room. Whatever the issue with his worry about sleep-casting, the lack of sleep was definitely affecting his equilibrium. She wanted to see who else was up and about and have a couple of serious conversations. As she closed the door quietly behind her, she heard Caleb start to snore gently. She shook her head with a rueful grin.

“Fuckin’ wizard.”


	7. Scraps and Tatters

He came back to himself but slowly, groggy and bruised. The first awareness he had was of the strangely clean scent of Veth, imbued into her small cloak that was wrapped carefully about his shoulders. He grabbed a handful and buried his face in the soft material, inhaling her scent deeply. His face felt crusted and his eyes itched, but all over, he felt better than he had all week. He sat up, rubbed at his eyes, and he pulled a scrap of wire from his pocket and spoke softly into it. 

“Hello, Veth, are you still here?”

//Good morning, sleepyhead. I’m just downstairs. Caddie’s cooked up a pretty great stew, and there’s fresh bread.//

“It’s not morning, it’s an hour past sunset,” he corrected her. “I will be there momentarily.”

He pulled himself off the floor, threw the pillow back on the bed and then carefully shook out Veth’s cloak and hung it on the bedpost hook, smoothing it with a lingering stroke. A quick tidy of his clothes, a couple of books, and he asked Frumpkin up to his shoulder, then headed down the stairs to join his friend.

Veth and Beauregard were in the larger dining space off the kitchen, with the big window looking out into the back garden. The fairy lanterns Veth had helped put up the previous month were lit, and Caduceus was in the garden, bent over, tending a plant with his back to the Haus. 

“Hey, Caleb,” the monk greeted him, “Veth says you’ve had a couple rough nights.”

His eyes darted to the halfling, now wearing her proper face again, and he felt a twinge of complicated emotion to see it. He’d only had a fleeting moment with her goblin side, but she was so much happier in this form... “Ja. I am... but I feel better now.”

Veth smiled at him a bit ruefully. “Yes, but I can’t come and rock you to sleep every night,” she shrugged, “And you wouldn’t quite fit in my guest room.” She stood on the bench seat and reached across the table for a bowl, ladling it full of stew from the cauldron on the table. “Here, eat. You look like shit.”

Caleb dropped his gaze and took a seat beside her, suffering her to cut him a thick slice of Caduceus’ sourdough bread, and spread it thickly with herbed butter using the same dagger. The steam rising from the bowl made Caleb’s mouth water and he broke off a piece of bread and dunked it straight away, cramming it in his mouth. The flavour broke over his tongue like a revelation, and he closed his eyes to properly enjoy it.

“Have you used any of the meditation forms I was showing you?” Beauregard asked, and from her voice, Caleb could tell she was watching Caduceus, not him. 

He made a muffled sound of assent around his food, finished the mouthful and then replied, “I have, I find them very useful when I am settling my mind towards sleep. The second form, in particular, I am good with.” He took another bite of gravy-soaked bread, and spooned up a few gobbets of meat and veg to follow it. Veth nodded in satisfaction that he was actually eating, and went back to her own bowl with gusto.

At the window, Beau turned her head to assess him. “Okay, well, but then you have dreams?” Caleb nodded, looking down into his bowl to not have to meet her eyes. Beauregard was absolutely fearless. She had never shown a second’s hesitation in any of the myriad dangerous situations they had found themselves in over the years, always charging right up close to batter their adversaries with her fists and feet, and it was a stark contrast to the cowardice that lived in his own heart. 

“More like night terrors,” Veth supplied. “You know, worse than a nightmare? Where you are trapped into a certain pathway and can’t get out?” 

Beauregard cocked her head to the side, “Are they the same every time? Did you dream while you were asleep this evening?”

“Ja, eh, no. They are the same time, but some differences, different things happen in them, but they are happening at the same time. And if I dreamed today, I don’t remember it. I don’t remember falling asleep, even...” his voice trailed off into an unspoken question, directed at his friend.

“You needed it too much, I think.” Veth glanced at him, her mouth set in an unhappy line. “You kinda passed out after... we talked.” So she hadn’t told Beau he had cracked. Of course she wouldn’t. 

“Well, Cad had some thoughts on the dream thing, and he and Jester want to look you over, make sure you don’t have any lingering damage from that last slip-up, when we took down that guy.”

Caleb nodded his agreement. The last encounter had been a rough fight, and he had been knocked down pretty badly when his third shield fizzled and the massive mace had clipped his head. Ordinarily when he was that badly injured he could take refuge in one of his tougher animal forms, but he had not gotten his hand into his pocket fast enough. This led him down a mental meander of whether he could transform just before bed to prevent casting in his sleep, then wondering if animals dreamed, then considering whether tranformations held even through sleep. Too many unkowns. He finished the bowl of stew, and accepted another slab of bread from Veth, this one spread with honeyed butter from the crock in the pantry, as Caduceus came in from the garden with a basket full of delicate silver sprigs.

“The moonwort has to be picked by moonlight,” he explained, “or it loses some of its power. Still tastes good, but... oh, hey Caleb. How are you feeling?”

“I am alright.” He pushed back the bowl and the last of his bread, and suffered through a careful examination of his head and neck. Veth noted that Caleb, usually faultlessly polite unless he was mage-hazing, had not commented on Caduceus's as-usual exemplary cooking, and she watched him closely as the cleric looked him over.

“You do have some small bruising here,” Caduceus noted the dark circles under Caleb’s eyes, “and you definitely need more sleep, but I don’t see any real injury that might be making it harder. Still, I think Jester might want to, you know, take a look.”

”Ja ja, fine, fine.” Caleb nodded a curt agreement and noted Beauregard watching him again.

“Yasha and I need to talk to you about something,” she said, “but I think we should get this issue resolved first.”

“Nein, I have this, I am working on it,” Caleb protested, his irritation very obvious, “I would rather be of help than be, ehm, a burden!”

Beauregard gave him a long, considering look, then shrugged. “Alright. Pop up later if you are up for it.”

Thinking of the preparation of the alarum spells Essek had proposed, and how much he had yet to accomplish, what with the nap having cut into his day. Caleb agreed shortly, and then followed Veth out of the room.

“They’re just worried about you, Caleb,” she chided him gently as she pinned her cloak closed in preparation to retuning home.

“I know. I just have... a lot to do. A lot to figure out.” His hands were in motion once more, frenetic movements of pinching and massaging his forearms, wringing and rubbing one hand into the other.

Veth gave him a reassuring nod. “I know. And you’ve got this, I’m sure. Just...” she gave him a poke, “Don’t forget your friends are here to help, too.”

Caleb crouched down in front of his best friend and met her gaze very seriously. “Thank you for coming when I needed you," he said quietly, the ire that had been rising in his voice dissipating. “I forget nothing,” he reminded her.


	8. Clerical Matters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An uncomfortable conversation with a sleep deprived wizard. The cat is unhelpful.

Early in the morning Jester danced down the stairs and into the kitchen, to see her favourite Firbolg dripping frosting on a sweet roll.“Jester!, I am so glad you are home,” Caduceus’ long face smiled up at her. “How was your mother?”

“She. Is. Wonderful!” Jester declared, “Of course!” The petite Tiefling clambered up onto a perch on the table, and helped herself to a warm pastry. “Oh my god, Caddie, these are amazing!”

The tall pink fellow smiled down at her. “Thanks, Jester. Glad you like ‘em. I wasn’t expecting you back so soon.”

Jester wiped her mouth of cinnamon sugar and made a moue. “Mama had things she was working on, so it was a short visit.”

“Well, I am glad you got in a quick check-in, at least.” Caduceus poured her a cup of tea and added a sizeable dollop of honey to it. “I had a look over Caleb last night; he’s not been sleeping well, and Veth’s a bit... worried.”

“Oh no! Poor Caleb! Is he okay?”

Caduceus’s mouth tightened and he frowned, his vibrant eyes shadowed with concern. “No injuries, but something has him absolutely wound up like a tinkertop spring.”

Jester frowned dramatically down at her teacup, “Yeah, but Caleb is always kind of wound up, though?”

“This is... more than usual,” the Firbolg cleric, “He's just not getting the rest he needs. He’s been patrolling the house with Frumpkin too. If the cat is there and he is not, you can be pretty sure Caleb is watching.”

Jester’s mobile face expressed her distaste for that idea, “That’s a bit creepy...”

“I mean, it is, a bit." The Wild Mother's priest spoke with his usual slow deliberation. "Maybe one of us should remind him people like their privacy sometimes.”

“Ya, ya.” Tiny Tiefling teeth bit her lower lip, as Jester considered, “I will do it!”

Caduceus nodded his thanks, and Jester stole another roll before heading upstairs.

She was passing the library and peered in, to see a familiar lanky form, half-curled on the settee, with an open book flat on his chest. One of his hands was draped across the book, and the other arm rested across his face, his finger loose and relaxed. He was snoring gently. Frumpkin was curled into a catloaf under Caleb’s upraised arm. The fae cat opened one eye when Jester came in, and mrred briefly at her. She could not help but smile at the picture this presented. Sleeping like this, he looked so peaceful, almost sweet. 

She snagged a blanket from the shelf by the door and was about to drape it over him when a tinkle of brass bells sounded in the air. Jester looked about in surprise and jigged about the room, looking for the source of the musical noise. The sound was gradually getting louder, when Caleb snapped into wakefulness with a muffled groan, giving Jester a bit of a shock.

“You okay, Caleb?” Jester asked.

“Nhhmnuh,” the erudite wizard replied, and then touched two fingers to his brow and murmured, “Quiesce.” The sound of the brass bells ceased immediately. Caleb scrubbed at his face and blinked a few times before sitting up, and then drew the two fingers back to his brow and said “Tempus fugit,” which was answered by a single brass chime and then silence.

Jester’s head jerked quickly as she looked in each direction, “Where is that coming from?”

“Uh, ja. The bells? A simple alarum spell.” he waved his hands. “Ignore it.” He flipped the book that had been resting on his chest over and shuffled in his seat, and appeared to start reading again.

“Uhhhhh, Caleb?”

The wizard looked up and met the Tiefling’s eyes. “Ah, ja? Jester?”

“Did you sleep in here last night?”

“Oh, ja, nein. I was reading... researching,” he gestured to the various stacks of books arrayed around him and on the nearby table in front of him. There was a closed inkpot, quills and a penknife on the table, and a stack of papers with scribbled notes across the loose pages. “I have a problem, und I am looking...”

“Yeah, I see that.” Jester said, glancing about organized disarray of the table. “It’s just that I need to talk to you.”

With unaccustomed ire, Caleb frowned up at her. “Jester, I am busy!”

Tiny Tielfling teeth bit her upper lip again, and her eyes suddenly loomed large and dark in the early morning light. “Just five minutes?” she pleaded, “For me?”

Caleb’s head sunk in defeat. //She has to know how irresistible she is.// “Ja, okay.” He marked his page with a clean quill, and set the book aside. “Five minutes.”

“So Caduceus said you had been maybe prowling the house in Frumpkin, kinda checking up on us all?

“Ah,” Caleb murmured with an awkward shrug, “Ja. Sometimes.”

“See, I think maybe... don’t do that?” Jester’s demeanor was still cute, but Caleb could see how serious she was, and he could not quite figure out why. “It’s a bit creepy, you know?”

Caleb’s eyebrows rose, and his face went through a series of complex expressions. “Creepy?”

Jester shrugged. “You know, like privacy is a thing? You like, get privacy, right?”

Another intricate flow of emotions crossed the wizard’s somewhat haggard face as he considered the possible meanings of ‘creepy’ and ‘privacy’, and in the end, comprehension dawned with all the inevitability of a death knell, as his flawless memory flashed to Frumpkin’s very brief glimpse into Jester and Fjord’s lovenest the night before. “Ahh!” Caleb’s face flushed bright red with deep mortification. When he found his voice again, he apologised in his often halting manner, and promised to not ride his familiar’s senses without notice anymore. “I did not mean anything by it,” he tried to reassure her, “I just, when I worry, I-I-I just need to know...”

“Oh I know,” Jester reassured him, “Just, you know, you might learn something youuuuu don’t want to knoooow!”

Caleb’s hands flickered at her to stop the sing-song. “I-I-I-, okay, okay okay.”

“Thank you, Caleb,” Jester sang, and she swished out of the room to go find her sweetheart. Caleb knuckled his brow for a minute, and then glanced over at Frumpkin. The fae feline studiously ignored him, and continued to nap in the warm spot that was Caleb’s place on the window seat. 

Caleb considered his cat for a few moments, and then turned back to his research.


	9. Conference

For the last several months, the Mighty Nein had held scheduled “family meetings” in the evening of the tenth night, as a check-in, update, and refocus for all their various projects and ongoing assignments. These meetings were informal, with Beauregard and Veth keeping the group as close to on task as they could, mostly just to ensure they got through all the items on the list, as each member of the Nein could have projects or goals on the go. This habit started shortly after the events on Rumblecusp, and had built into a helpful way to keep the entire team on track and involved in each others’ endeavours. 

Caleb was usually pretty quiet at these things, unless asked a direct question, but he paid close attention to most of the items under discussion, in case he had something to add, although his gentle throat clearing to indicate those times was occasionally unheard or overlooked by the louder, more extroverted members of the group. Veth sought to ensure that if he needed to be heard, he would be, and soft-spoken as he was, the entire Nein respected Caleb’s extensive intellectual gifts and would quiet down to hear the soft-spoken wizard’s input.

They were all gathered around the big dining table in the kitchen, chairs to one side and the long trestle bench to the other. Beauregard, her energy too frenetic to sit still for long, usually paced the room as she expounded on various topics. They referred to her rants as tinfoil hat sessions, as she could easily come up with wild-assed theories, and infect half the party with her leaps of logic, but they paid attention, because too often, the weirdest thing had happed to be the truth to a matter.

Caleb sat at the corner of the table nearest the fireplace, wrapped in the knitted Dwendalian sweater Yasha had found for him upon their return from the North. It was too big for him, but it was soft and warm, and the fade dye of it reminded him of her hair. He had his usual books and papers in front of him, but his hands stayed tucked in the too-large sleeves of the sweater. The hollows under his eyes were darker and deeper, and he was more withdrawn than usual. Fjord and Jester sat beside him, backs to the wall, and Caduceus took up the top edge of the table. Veth sat across from Caleb, and kept glancing back at him, while Beauregard reviewed the past tenday’s activities and the next tenday’s plans.

She watched as his eyelids drifted down, closing out the cozy light of the room. His lashes fluttered once, and then rested above his shadowed cheeks, as his breathing slowed and evened. His head didn’t nod, but he was very definitely falling asleep.

“Am I boring you, Widogast?” Beauregard scolded Caleb, drawing everyone’s attention to him, not that he noticed.

“Caleb!” Veth barked, and the wizard rocked forward, his eyes snapping open in alarm. His hands leapt from their sleeves, eloquent fingers coming up to feebly shield his face. 

“Was?!” Every member of the Nein was watching him. “Uh... sorry.” He lowered his hands to the table and spread his fingers as he laid them flat to the table. His hands were, ever so slightly, shaking. He frowned down at them, but before anyone could say anything, Caduceus rose from his place at the end of the table and moved to sit down beside him. 

“Mister Caleb, if you keep on burning the candle at both ends, you are going to hurt yourself.”

Caleb’s hard empty laugh was the only reply for a full ten seconds. His left hand balled into a thin fist and he hit the table as hard as he could out of pure, furious frustration, once, twice, three times, before Veth was over the table and holding him, Jester had his left side and Caduceus his right, and Fjord had reached across and grasped his shoulder, giving it a supportive squeeze, as the harsh, self-mocking barks of laughter degraded and crumbled into decreasing, dry sobs. “Hurt... myself?” His hand moved, as if of its own accord, away from his face, and his fingers flickered into flame before his exhausted eyes. 

Beauregard sank back onto her heels, and bit her lip as she watched her friend have a small breakdown at the dining table. Her mind flicked back to the first days they spent in company, how this fragile, frenetic hobo, gave her deep concerns. The combination of his clear potential for arcane power with his transparent mental instability had kept her untrusting of him for a very long time. But at some point, he had made a choice, to become part of the team, instead of he and Nott always keeping to themselves. Late night conversations on watch, mess after mess and entanglement after entanglement, and first the goblin, then the wizard began to find their feet in this weird little family. They had as a whole come to care very much for each other, but Beauregard was not so much a fool as to underestimate either Caleb’s power, or his intermittent unstability.

Weighing the options, the monk made a quick choice. “Back off, guys, give the man some room.” Veth was the last of them to pull back, her expression caught between anger at Beau and deep worry for her wizard friend. “Look at me, man.” She waited till she had the wizard’s attention, then continued. “You know, we get it, we get it, you aren’t sleeping enough, having shitty dreams, all that. But, Caleb, you gotta give us a chance to help you.”

It took him several moments to absorb what she said, and he snuffed the flames and laid his hands flat on the table again, willing the shaking to stop. “I do not know how you can,” he said shortly. “I am digging deeply, and Essek has given me some good guidance; I have alarums set so I don’t sleep quite long enough to dream, which is working: and it has been a full day since I had an... incident.”

“A full day. You’re like this after a full day.”

Caleb winced and looked away again. Veth spoke up defensively, “He’s been dealing with this since we got back. Hasn’t had a full night’s sleep since then.” 

“That’s not good,” Caduceus said, “People need dreamtime, it’s important.”

Caleb shook his head, and finally confessed, “I am casting, while dreaming. If I sleep too deeply, I am worried I might burn the house down.”

“Well, that would be bad,” the cleric stated with a serious nod of his head, “Maybe don’t do that.”

“I’m in agreement with Caduceus,” Fjord piped up, “Maybe don’t!”

“If- if- if it were so simple,” Caleb murmured, “I’d have this handled by now!”

“So it’s not simple!” Beauregard growled, “When is anything we do? Caduceus, you mentioned a thing you could maybe teach Caleb to help him out?”

“I might have a thing, yeah,” the Firbolg replied, and led Caleb out of the dining room and up to the library, leaving the rest of the Nein to discuss the situation, without Caleb’s prickly presence.


	10. Lucidity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will the wisdom of the Wild Mother help our sad, sleepless wizard?

Caduceus guided the wizard into the library, where they could consult in a less-chaotic environment. He looked around the room with a faint air of disapproval at the disarray Caleb had left in his wake. Glancing down at the titles of some of the books scattered about, he commented, “Dream research, huh? I think I can help with that a bit.”

They moved to the window seat, and Caduceus arranged pillows so they could sit side by side facing each other, legs up along the length of the bench. Caleb’s face was drawn and pale, making the dark circles look deeper, and his eyes washed out blue. He suffered Caduceus’ attentions without protest, his occasional prickliness at close proximity subsumed under his clear exhaustion. The Firbolg propped up the wizard’s knees and draped a cozy blanket over them. Before they could begin, a sudden chime sounded in the room, and Caleb startled a little. He had forgotten the small spell would be reactivated when he came back into the library. He tapped his brow with two fingers and gestured into the aether, "Quiesce."

He explained his alarum spell to Caduceus and the cleric showed his understanding. With the chimes silent, he began to explain the concept he thought might help. “So dreaming. There’s a way we can, as people who need to dream, get some control over what happens in that head space.” Caduceus noted Caleb’s tightening of focus at the mention of control. “To be aware that you are dreaming is the first step. So what you have to do is remind yourself, just as you are drifting off, that you are in control of your dreams.”

Caleb’s brows crept a little closer together and he asked how, exactly.

“If you think of sleep as coming in waves,” Caduceus attempted to explain, with a gentle motion of his pale hands, “At the top of a wave, we are more awake, and at the bottom, we are closer to sleep. So in order to sleep, the waves have to get deeper, so we can reach down into that level of consciousness, and once we are in deep enough, we can stay there. The wave pattern changes once you are in that state, right? Your body temperature drops, breathing levels out, and you start to drift towards dreaming. SO it’s just before you hit that point, just tell yourself that everything that happens after that point is happening in your own mind, and that means you can control it.”

The wizard listened carefully, following the logic of the metaphor. “But control how? If I am asleep, how am I conscious to control where my mind goes?”

Caduceus recalled several short conversations with Caleb over their time together, about memories and ways of coping with various kinds of trauma. The wizard had a keen mind and grasped complex concepts very easily and quickly, but clearly had struggled with his history a great deal. The cleric hoped he had been of help, gently guiding the traumatised young man, and certainly over the months they had known each other, Caleb’s pain seemed to have eased significantly, at least until this crisis. “It’s a bit of a trick, Mister Caleb. What you are doing is reminding your mind that it has conscious choice, and that in your mind, you are in control.”  
Caleb’s face made a small wince. “Okay okay, so... what next?”

Caduceus smiled gently down at the frail wizard. “Once you are dreaming, if something happens that you are made uncomfortable by, you remember you are dreaming, and you change things, to make sure you feel safe again. I start small, play around with colour or light, or if I’m are falling, you know, I grow a pair of wings.”

“So, small changes are easier?” Caleb asked.

“Well, your brain puts a lot of energy into dreaming, if you try to change a lot all at once, you can pull yourself right out of the dreamstate.”

Caleb’s expressive brows lifted, as this might work better than the aural alarum Essek had helped him develop, as it would only pull him out of sleep if things went awry in his dreams, so he might be able to get some sleep. 

“Or, you can get pulled deeper into the dream,” Caduceus continued, inadvertently crushing Caleb’s unspoken hope. “So small, you know, minor things, and just enough to feel safer.”

“Why would I not change more, if I am scared or feel like I am in danger?” the wizard queried.

“Well, dreams are important, Caleb. I mean, we don’t understand how or why we even do it, but we know we need to.” Caduceus explained gently, “There’s insight there, and sometimes, if you respect what your dreams can tell you, you come out some the wiser. If you change them all the time... you know, you miss stuff.” Caduceus wanted to make sure the wizard understood him, “Might sound weird, but you can stunt yourself, stunt your own growth.”

This was a new thought for the wizard, and that novelty was enough to wake him up and tighten his focus. “So, I should let the dream happen, but change the thing I am afraid of?”

Caduceus nodded in his slow, wise way. With a gesture, he offered to tuck the blanket around Caleb, and the distracted wizard acquiesced, settling down into the window seat’s cushions. “Danke.”

“You go ahead, have a nap,” Caduceus smiled down at him, even as Caleb’s eyes started to slide closed, all his exhaustion weighting down his eyelids, and his breathing already deepening. “I’ll be right here if you need me.”


	11. In Dreaming Can be Peace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucid dreaming is a thing... will it help our poor, sleep deprived wizard?

As Caduceus tucked him in, the wizard’s eyes closed, and he let his consciousness follow that idea of waveforms: each inhalation lifting his mind, each exhalation sinking him deeper, until he felt comfortably weightless, afloat on a dark amber sea. And as he started to sink gently below the warm waves, his keen mind inserted the reminders with careful, almost surgical precision: //What happens here is in my control. I can affect small changes.//

The times spent below real bodies of water with Fjord and the others made this amber ocean feel less alien than it might have. He sank down, casting his eyes upward and following the pattern of light dancing above his head, until his feet touched and his weight settled into the soft soil. The light thins and clarifies and he stands in an achingly familiar gate, on a garden path, looking at a pale brown dirt road, and across it to verges of bright sparking flowers, surrounding fields full of ripening reddish golden grain. Coming up the road is an indistinct, but immediately-recognised figure. The soldier is not tall, thin, a bit haggard, but his thin face suffuses with joy, as a petite, bright-haired child runs right through where Caleb stands, and leaps into the arms of the figure. 

He has not visited this memory in decades. He does not wish to change a thing, so just watches, and lets his heart beat with the child’s.

Leofric, his father, holds the child in a too-tight embrace, and when little Bren protests, squirming, he changes his grip, and tosses the child into the air. Caleb feels again the swoop of excitement and the wind in his hair, and then the petite form of his mother appears and sweeps the child from her husband, sending him back to the gate with a gentle push, before stepping into the circle of the soldier’s arms and lifting her face for his kiss. 

Bren runs right to where Caleb stands, and he glances up as though he sees his older self, and the breath he did not remember he was holding rushes from his lungs as those bright and innocent eyes seem to meet his but then look right through him. He starts to turn to follow the child towards the house, but stops himself just in time. He is not ready to see his childhood home, not yet, not now. He turns back to the joyous couple in the road and sees his father take his mother in his arms and pull her into a tight embrace, before sliding to the right and beginning the first steps of a dance...

Caleb closes his eyes and glances down and the dirt of the road has become wooden boards of a familiar floor, and when he lifts his eyes he is in the kitchen of their small but neat farm house, watching small Bren dandle on his father’s knee, and sees Leofric’s mouth moving in a familiar nonsense rhyme, his roughened hands holding his tiny son’s, and the laughter is echoing from the close rafters... “Vati, Vati, I have something to show you!” Una’s smile deepens into a beacon of pride as her son, barely out of leading strings holds his tiny, thin hands up and murmurs a word, and tiny lights coalesce and start to dance between his hands. Leofric’s eyes are enormous and awed and so, so proud. Caleb looks down to shade his heart from the sight.

Then he is again on the ochre dirt, now behind the small schoolhouse, and he glances up to see three heads bowed together, one dark, one pale and one the colour of the russet wheat tops, and little Bren shows his friends how to touch the power that flows all around and through them and together they lift their hands and the globules of light dance together, combine and come apart, trading light and colour in pulses. The looks on all their young faces reflect their delight, wonder and joy...

He is standing at the top of the rounded hill behind his house, looking down the slope to see three red faces running up the hill toward him. A little older now, on the brink of adolescence, the three children are out of breath and laughing, playing tag with floating balls of light as evening falls over Blumenthal, Eodwulf in the lead, Astrid right on his tail, and Bren gasping, laughing as he falls, tripping over his own thin feet. They collapse together, breathless and giggling as dusk touches the village below them. 

A gentle smile crosses Caleb’s lips, as he watches Bren come up to his knees, glance over to his dark haired friend, who gathers up the sticks and tinder, and then they wait, while Bren closes his eyes and calls forth flames from his fingers, and the three huddle together, hearts full and faces in the firelight free, young and hopeful. Down below the village bonfire lights the night, and the villagers of Blumenthal celebrate the successful planting with singing, dancing, ale and affection. 

He remembers this night so well, as the three cuddle together under Eodwulf’s cloak, sharing their dreams and hopes under the stars of midsummer. Caleb would change nothing here. He chooses instead to leave those three to their bright dreams and their warm firelight, and walks down the hill on the other side, away from the village. The night air is cool and soft and the sounds from the village celebration drift into silence as he moves away. 

//What happens here is in my control.// he recalls, //I can affect small changes.// So he turns, looks back up the hill and imagines there, at the crest of the hill, a simple, slender and tall tower, of golden stone, with the much admired architectural elegance, the perfection of proportions overlooking the plain of Blumenthal. Caleb’s heart fills with quiet satisfaction as the tower takes shape, beside the small fire that flickers on the hill, and in the top most arched window, a gentle, amber light, like a cat’s eye, glinting.

The waveforms flow over him and gently lift him up, above the golden edges of the dreamshapes, and up through the amber ocean, into a calm and serene wakefulness. 

With a breath, his eyes flickered open, and he met Caduceus’ contented gaze. “That looked like a nice nap,” the Firbolg stated quietly, and Caleb nodded. His internal clock ticked over into late evening. He was still tired, but no longer beyond reason with exhaustion. Caduceus followed as he made his way up the stairs to his room, and helped him settle into his bed. He made him a cup of tea on Caleb’s own wee stove, and left him in the dark of his room, already starting to drift back into that amber sea.


	12. A Little Help

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What are friends for? But poor sleep equals poorer choices...

Caduceus saw that Caleb was settled in for the night, and made his way back down the stairs. 

It had been good to watch the wizard nap in the library. In the gentle light, Caleb’s face had relaxed, and the cleric had a small sense of satisfaction that maybe he had helped. Once he was sure the wizard was actually asleep, and dreaming, his eyes moving under his eyelids and his breathing deep and even, Caduceus had set about tidying up the desk, stacking the books Caleb still seemed to be using and shelving the rest in his usual haphazard manner: the only books the Firbolg used on the regular were cookbooks, and he kept a short shelf of them in the kitchen. He liked it when things were neat and organised: it just made everything go smoother, but the myriad of topics and the confusing organisation of the shelves was a bit much for the Firbolg, so the books ended up on incorrect shelves, some spines flipped, but at least they weren’t on the floor or the window seats.

He made his way down the stairs. The library was still lit from within, and he heard the sounds of quiet voices. Beau, Fjord and Jester were discussing some things, so the tall cleric joined them in there. 

“He’s settled in,” Caduceus reported, “I am hopeful it’s for the night. He got almost four hours on the windowseat here. It’s a start on that deficit, anyway.”

Beauregard met Jester’s eyes across the table, and shook her head in frustration. “I just don’t know why he thinks he has to do everything on his own,” she growled. “We have proven, time and again, we work best as a team!”

The half-orc at Jester’s side looked down at his hands. “It’s not easy for some of us to trust,” he said, “And, I dunno, maybe he thought he could get a grip on whatever it was without involving the whole mess of us.” 

“Ya, ya, like sometimes, you know, when you feel bad or guilty ‘bout something,” Jester offered, “You don’t always want your friends all ‘up in your business’, right?” She did her best to add the monk’s street-tough jargon, which made Fjord smile, but was lost on Beau. 

“Oh I’m gonna get up in his business, “ she declared firmly, “Idiot wizard snuggles into guilt like a cozy sweater, it’s so dumb!”

Caduceus nodded slowly. “We all have ways we are more comfortable dealing with things,” he said sagely, not looking pointedly at any of them, “Just those habits aren’t always the healthiest.”

“We have been kinda wrapped up in all our own stuff, too,” the little blue Tiefling acknowledged. “Maybe he didn’t feel like he could ask us for help.”

Beau’s face went on a bit of a journey as she pondered. “Well I can at least do a bit of research.” She perused the three neat stacks of books Caduceus had made of Caleb’s mess. Most of the titles were recent acquisitions, related to sleep and dreams. They had added these books to their library in hopes of better understanding the phenomena of the Somnovum, so she was familiar with the meat of most of them already. She sat down and grabbed the top book on each pile, and opening her journal to a fresh page. Fjord and Jester each reached for a book, too.

“I think we need to keep a closer eye on him,” Caduceus said, “Check in more, pay attention to those moodswings, that kind of thing. He's isolating because he doesn’t feel safe.”

“Like watch shifts?” Fjord suggested.

“Maybe not quite so formal,” the pink-furred cleric demurred, “He would chafe against that, I’m pretty sure.”

“Ya,” Jester interjected, “He’d hate that. Like we see him as something we have to watch out for.”

Beau glanced sharply up at the others, but did not say whatever dark thought crossed her mind. She tapped her stylus on the book instead, and asked Caduceus if Caleb had told him what his dreams consisted of. 

“No. Not as such.” 

Beau thought back to the day before, when Veth had popped in unexpectedly, and given them a heads-up about Caleb’s situation. “Pretty sure he told Veth, though. I’ll check in with her tomorrow. Maybe if I had some idea what he’s been dreaming about, I’d have more to go on.”

She added this thought to her notes, questions and ideas gleaned from what she was perusing. //Nightmare vs night terrors? sleep-walking, casting, triggers?; How much dreaming is enough?; What’s haunting him? Somnovum/post-trauma? Or his Sin? Details fr. V...?; Dream seed? Drow thing - ask E; try drugs? Valerian, Johanswort, other?// She made a note in her index, then flipped to a fresh page and continued to scribble down connected ideas. 

They settled down for an evening’s work, although Jester grew bored soon, and by the time she and Fjord went to bed, Beau had a significant list of things to follow up on. She tidied up and made her way down to the kitchen to grab a snack to share with Yasha, then headed to their room.

* * *

Sleep claimed Caleb easily, in the relief of the relaxed state after the nap in the library, and he is afloat again on the amber sea, and drifts through some few more recent memories, seen through the filter of his dreaming mind. Only fleeting impressions, sensations, brief sense poems: an amber rod rubbing a ginger cat’s fur and the crackle of tiny sparks from that odd friction; the clean, petrichor smell of Yasha; the weight of the air on the hills above Nicodranas, as a storm rolls in from the sea; the Bright Queen’s face when he reveals the Beacon to the assembled Drow court //I am a child of the Empire...// He hears again his voice ringing in the sudden sharp silence, //but I am no friend to the Empire...//

The sense of indescribable loss as he set the luminous object down on the floor at the Bright Queen’s feet; the sweeping, singing stretching feeling of communing with the energies within the Beacon; the vibrant colour of Essek’s eyes; the crunch of ice under his feet; the soft brush of Caduceus’ pink hair and gossamer sleeve over his hand, as he tends to yet another iron-cold heavy ache, deep within Caleb’s body...

But the hands are not healing him, but hurting, hurting! The ache blooms into a dark mycoric throb, and the wizard meets the grave-dark eyes, sheened with a bleak purple light reflecting from the crystals tipping the cleric’s Blight staff, and the ache grows and gets deeper, more insidious, heavier as the Inflict takes affect! 

Appalled and panicking, Caleb’s hands form the somatics through a small burned twig he can feel but not see, and Caduceus’s sinister face is blasted by arcane lightning as the witch bolt jolts through him again and again, the draw on the channels another dark, heavy pulse from deep within his own body-

Caleb bolted upright with a whimper, nostrils filled with the crackle of ozone, the arcane pathways under his skin aching with effort. He looked wildly about the room and saw the stripped wood of the chair beside the bed, where Caduceus had sat, calmly and comfortingly only a few hours before. The chair was badly damaged, showing clear tracks of lightning, the impact points charred and silvered, fernlike patterns growing out from them. He took no comfort in the eerie beauty of it.

A black curtain of despair swept over the wizard, and he buried his face in his thin hands, rocking back and forth in his cold bed. The fragile hope Caduceus had started to instill in him died an ashen death in Caleb’s heart. //So much for that technique!// His mind spun in crazed circles, the bleakness of his predicament dragging him down into a deep vortex. 

With a grim grasp of his circumstances, he spoke into the chill air, “Tempus fugit,” to trigger the alarum spell again, and rose to dress in the dark. 

He had had less than two hours of rest, so he drank the cold tea Caduceus had prepared, and knelt on the hard floor to at least attempt a short rest. He did not trust himself enough to attempt an Arcane Recovery: however vulnerable it made him feel to be unable to cast more powerful magics, he would be keeping his family safer. 

The dissonance of needing to stay unprepared, and that this would keep the Nein safer jolted panic through the wizard’s brain. It may be that the only way to keep them safe was to remove himself from their vicinity. He knew he didn’t do well on his own, but it was starting to feel like he was running out of other options. He reconsidered, and prepared Arcane Recovery after all. If he needed to run, a Teleportation spell was not a bad idea.


	13. Partners

When he could not wait in his room another second, Caleb made his way down the stairs, and was surprised to find Beauregard at the library table, deep in researches, a cup of tea turning cold at her elbow. “Guten morgen, Beauregard.”

Her head rocked back on her neck and she appraised him briefly. “Hey. How’d you sleep?”

Caleb ignored the question and gestured to the books and pages of notes in front of her. It was clear she was delving into dream researches to try and assist him. “Have you learned anything?”

“Sure have,” she gave him a half-cocked grin. “Not sure any of it is useful.”

“Show me?” He sat tiredly beside her and she reviewed her thoughts with him. 

“Honestly, after all the stuff with the Somnovum and that, I thought we were done with the dream things, you know?”

“Ja. I had hoped.” He rubbed his shoulder where the now-inert mark had appeared that first night after they had read Lucien’s book. He tapped the tome he had finished with last, the day before. “According to this, recurring dreams... I recall they are often considered portents.”

Beau flipped the book open to a couple of strips of paper used to mark relevant pages. She found the first such passage and read it briefly.“Is that why you are so wrecked? Because you think you are dreaming the future?”

Caleb’s face closed, and looking down at his hands, he gave his pinched half-nod, as though it hurt him to admit to the outlandish concept. 

Beauregard inhaled deeply, and then laid a comforting hand on his arm. “It’s not likely, you know that right?”

The wizard met her gaze evenly. A memory of fire flickered in his eyes. “Do you remember Asarius?”

The monk cocked her head and ransacked her memory. “Uh, kinda? City of beasts?”

“Ja, ja. The tunnel?” He hesitated to say more.

Beauregard’s mind flashed back to that incident, chasing monsters through a maze of tunnels, and coming out into a chamber, to see her wizard friend slapping together components and tossing the highest level fire magic he had at his command then, right into her and the others. She had danced out of the way, only getting lightly singed, but then wasted precious seconds pleading with Caleb to snap out of whatever had him confused. Incised into her sharp mind was the image on his face, the fear and terror and loss, as he rubbed one bladed hand into the other, open palm full of phosphorous, and the immense wall of flames that blocked her from him. It had taken a strike from Yasha's immense blade to cut through whatever enchantment had him in its grip, and when he had come back... the feelings he had tried to hide: regret, shame, guilt, shadows of which he wore even now.

“Is it a memory then?”

“Ach no, but... that is the dream. What that thing made me think, feel, see. I am betrayed. You all, you are attacking me. I am... “ he gritted his teeth briefly, “I am defending myself, the way I best know.” He forced his hands to stop gripping his forearms and looked at his palms, empty, innocent-seeming. Belying the power he wielded. “And you die. You all die.”

“Wow,” she said quietly. “That’s pretty harsh, dude.”

He nodded. “I know it is a dream, too. In the middle of it, I know it: it would be a very perfect hit to take any of you down with one spell. But, Beauregard, I watch you die. I watch, and I am snapped awake, and the power is already drawn from me. I feel it. I have seen-”

“And you can’t sleep, because that’s the dream. Right? Every time, same thing?”

“Ja, ja. Close enough.”

“But not the nap you took in the library, right? No dreams then?”

“No... no bad dreams. I did dream, but... it was not...” he smiled briefly, and Beauregard was stunned to realise it had been days since she had seen that small, wry half-smile on his face. Caleb considered. He had had naps, little catnaps, at the kitchen table, by the hot tub, yesterday in the library, even the floor of his own room... and no bad dreams had reached him those times: it was a puzzle piece he had not been able to see. “You are right!”

Beauregard watched with satisfaction as the wizard’s brilliant mind added this data to the configuration, and with the focus shift, his whole expression evolved from one of near panic and exhaustion to focus and calculation. He pulled another book across the table and flipped it open, soon engrossed in further, fervent reading. 

When she could see he was engrossed, and feeling actually productive, Beau moved out of the room, fetched breakfast for two from the kitchen and stifled a yawn as she slid the plate closer to the wizard. “Here, eat.”

His attention clearly on what he was reading, Caleb picked up the toast with its schmeer of smoked cheese, and took a bite. He fastidiously wiped his mouth of crumbs as he read, and Beauregard was again amazed by how quickly the wizard read and absorbed information. He was clearly still tired, and she did not bother to shutter her worry behind her usual snark.

He looked up and met her concerned gaze. “Yes, Beauregard?”

“You didn’t sleep last night, did you?”

He dropped his gaze and that was all the answer she needed. “Well, Caduceus is right, Caleb: you can’t keep burning the candle at both ends.” The wizard winced and Beau did not bother to hide her alarm. “What? What’s wrong?”

“It’s just... that is an unfortunate choice of metaphor.” He flicked a hand up and flames danced across his fingers. He gave her a pointed look. 

Beau’s reaction was a chuckle and a wry grin. “Yeah, clearly I meant exactly that: burning the candle with both hands?”

“Either way the candle burns out too quickly, ja?”

“Exactly.”

Caleb drew a deep breath and the amusement faded from his face. “I dreamed again last night,” he confessed. “It was Caduceus this time. I... sustained the spell for... long enough-”

“And watched him die.” Beau filled in. She watched as the wizard’s face tightened and shifted between deep and dark emotions as he could not help but recall every detail of the memory. Once he had run the gamut, he nodded at her wordlessly.

“Super shitty, Caleb. M’sorry.”

He exhaled shakily. “So, I am still struggling. I need sleep. Und I apparently need to dream, but not... that dream.”

“Okay. Look, I have a couple ideas. I think for now, nap, here, in the library. Turn off your little alarm thingie, and get some sleep, okay?”

“Beauregard, I don’t have time. I am looking for answers, and I have still so much to prepare for our next thing...”

The monk nodded, “I mean yeah, we have a lot of prep to do, you just, maybe need to prioritise this?”

Caleb lowered his gaze back to the books in front of him. He considered for a moment and eventually gave a shaky nod. 

"We are in this together, right?"

"Ja, sure. but you need to trust me, a little. About my limits?"

"I mean, I do, but sometimes, man, you do not make it easy." 

Caleb gave her a tightening of the mouth, half a grin. "I know. I'm sorry. I will rest, when I have to, okay?"

Slightly mollified, Beau gathered up her things and left him to it.

Once she had left the room, he sipped at his tea, felt the deep chasm of his exhaustion looming before him, and with two fingers to his brow and the softly spoken invocation, he triggered his alarum chime to go off every half hour, in case he drifted off. He flipped the page and went back to his work.


	14. Serious Conversations

A long morning’s work, a short nap, and by the early afternoon, Caleb needed air, feeling the stillness of the XhorHaus as a stifling of his breathing. He wrapped himself in a long coat and stepped out, feeling oddly weightless.

//Just a turn around the block// he offered himself, //Stretch the legs, clear the mind.// The weight of Beauregard’s concern felt less like a storm anchor and more like a stone around his neck. He knew, if he couldn’t figure out the problem, he’d have to keep all of his friends safe by vacating, and the hollow blackness that hovered on the edge of his vision at that thought was too much for him to even look at.

He strode down the street, utterly unaware of the imposing figure he cut. His unbuttoned coat flaring out from his thin shoulders like a raptor’s wings, and his face was seemingly locked into a forbidding scowl. Deep in his ruminations, he had not let any of the Nein know, but as he only intended to be out for a few minutes, it did not seem worth disturbing them. 

The dream research led in several interesting directions, and Caduceus' conscious dream manipulation technique had given him a couple of hours of real rest again today, but it was so little, against the heavy curtain of sleep deficit that it did little to ease Caleb's growing concerns. Beauregard had pointed out how he could apparently sleep safely, at least for short spurts, in other places in the Haus, or was it at other times? The dream he dreaded had stalked him at different hours of the night, but it had been always at night... He considered exhausting himself and trying to reset his circadian cycle so he was sleeping in the middle of the day, and weighed that idea against just sleeping elsewhere for a while, but between these two possible addresses of his problem, he did not have an idea which was the better choice.

He found himself taking the familiar path past the Shadowhand’s elaborate tower home, and on a whim, thought to send the man a message. He reached down to his hip, reflexes of reaching for necessary components so ingrained, only to lift an empty hand, no wire to be found, no pouch strapped to his waist, and he suddenly felt incredibly vulnerable. Confident footsteps became hesitant, and he knew he had to get off the street as fast as he could. He ducked into the imposing gateway, and nodded a nervous greeting to the guard on duty. 

Standing on Essek’s doorstep, his mouth dry, he was reminded in a flash of the last time he had stood here, of the end of that visit, of the sudden, surprising sensation of the Drow's mouth covering his own, moving in some particular way over the sensitive skin, communicating... what, exactly? In all the wreckage of the last several days, Caleb had not even had time to seek an answer to that question. And now here he stood, figurative cap in hand, and unprepared to even be agent to his own defense, should something untoward occur. What would Essek take this circumstance to mean? But he couldn't stay out here! 

Caleb knocked tentatively. It was midday, on a day when he knew the Shadowhand was usually working from his home, but he might be deeply involved, concentrating too much to-

“Caleb!” Wide eyes the colour of sky met the Drow’s, and Essek was shocked at the barely-leashed panic he could read all over the human wizard. He shot a glance over Caleb’s shoulder, looking for companion or pursuer, even as he angled his shoulder to let him into the entry. “Come in!”

As soon as he was within the Shadowhand’s demesne, his breath escaped him in a few anxious exhalations. He put his back to the nearest wall and reached for some semblance of calm. “I am sorry, my friend. I only just-”

“Caleb, are you alright?”

“I am. I think I am, ja. I just...” his voice trailed off and he gestured to his sides. Essek glanced down and noted the lack of book holsters and component pouches. For the Mighty Nein’s wizard to be wandering the streets without escort or any of his usual precautions alarmed the Drow far more than he would have given credit. “I just wanted a breath of fresh air... I did not even think.”

The Shadowhand gave his friend a gentle smile, doing his best to reassure and calm the still-edgy wizard. “At least you are safe.”

“Ja, ja,” Caleb didn’t sound convinced. He closed his eyes and leaned back against the cool stone wall and continued to bring his breathing under control. 

“Is this the first time you’ve left the house...”

“Without anything, ja. I only put the components away a couple days ago.”

“I thought that suggestion was to prepare before sleep.”

“The sleep deficit has caught up with me a few times,” Caleb explained, “I would rather not chance it.”

Essek’s smooth brow lowered, and he rested a reassuring hand on Caleb’s shoulder. “If you need to stay, I am happy to offer you guest quarters,” he offered.

Caleb sat and considered. The risk he bore the XhorHaus was not lessened here, but if anyone could contain errant arcane energies, it would be Essek Thelyss. But to be defenseless, unable to even send a message, barred from all but his simplest cantrips, and to be at the full mercy of someone he did not yet fully trust... Caleb shook his head in a quick negation of the idea. “I should not, although I appreciate the kindness.” He smiled shakily at his host. “I forget nothing.”

Essek nodded his acceptance of the other's refusal. He could not blame Caleb for his reluctance. He had never been in such dire straits, personally, but he could imagine wanting to be safe, above all.

“Ach, ah...” Caleb met his gaze again, with a renewed concerned expression. “I don’t know how I am to get home...”

Essek squeezed his arm again. “That is easily solved, my friend.”

The sudden appearance of the two wizards in the front entry of the XhorHaus was perfectly timely, as the rest of the gathered Nein were about to roll the city looking for their missing friend. At their apparation, Fjord’s arms were crossed and his eyebrows were sky high. Beauregard’s whole body language reflected her agitation, Yasha’s large hands resting supportively on her shoulder. Caduceus’ long face reflected only relief. Veth was standing nearest the door, her cloak already done up, and her motherly face etched with worry.

“Ohmygosh, you guys! You scared the heck out of us!” Jester half-scolded, “Were you making out?”

Essek brushed her off gently, “No, of course not, Jester,” he murmured. He caught the half-orc’s dubious expression, and answered it with his own arch look, at which Fjord quickly looked away. 

Caleb’s tension did not ease once they had arrived, and as he looked around at his friend’s faces, his own closed off. 

Essek watched as the anxiety locked down into the wizard’s whole body. He was not alone.

Veth unclasped her cloak and laid it aside, and approached her oldest friend among the Nein. Reaching up, she took his hand firmly, and tugged him out of the chaos of their arrival, down the corridor and up the winding stairs to his room. His mouth was a grim line and he was trembling ever so slightly. She led him to the window seat and sat him down gingerly. 

“You are home, you are safe. And now, you are going to listen to me.”


	15. Dream Seed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first real clue as to what is troubling our sleepless wizard.

Beauregard watched Veth lead Caleb up to his room, and knew the stern talking to that was awaiting him: the Halfling had been railing about all the things she was going to tell the mage if... *if* they found him alive.

Essek watched them go as well, with an unreadable expression on his smooth face, and Beau tapped him on the arm, pointing him toward the library. “If you have some time, I have a couple questions for you.”

“Of course,” the Drow answered, and Fjord, Jester and Caduceus followed them into the well-lit and calm space. The central table had a few stacks of books, clearly separated into two study areas. One was clean and tidy, the books’ edges squared, and a neat stack of notes to the left of a full inkpot and two precisely placed quills. 

The other side of the table was a bit more chaotic, with a small spill of candlewax across the side edge of the table, and one book used to mark the place in another, a practice the fastidious mage disliked. A journal with a distinctive navy blue cover lay splayed spine up on the table, beside a quill and a dry inkpot: so many clear signs of a chaotic mind. The Drow had no doubt who used which side of the table.

Before the interrogation could begin, Caduceus spoke softly, a kind smile on his long face. “Hey, Essek,” he rumbled, “Thanks for getting him home safe.” 

A small nod was all the acknowledgement the mage gave, but he saw that the Firbolg read his gratitude clearly.

For all that Beauregard had taken the lead in the moment to get Essek into the library, the first person to ask a question was Fjord. “So, Essek. Let me just get this straight in my head. Caleb has talked to you about this whole thing, right?”

“I do not... know.” Essek steepled his long fingers, an old habit often used to mask his throughts from those around him. The tension in the room was uncomfortable for the dark elf, and he fell back into more subtle ways useful in the Bright Queen’s court. He disliked the reversion into these sorts of habits, but he was well aware of his tenuous place among the Mighty Nein.“He has asked me some questions about sleep, specifically use of directed arcane powers while sleeping.” He noted Caduceus’ confusion and clarified. “Spells. He is concerned about casting in his sleep.”

Beauregard’s brow creased in an intent frown. She pulled a chair out and sat backwards in it, facing her work area. Essek watched as she flipped her journal over and glanced over her notes. She reached across the table and stole Caleb’s inkpot, dipping her pen and scribbling rapidly in the book while Fjord continued to grill the Drow mage.

“And that’s everything?” the half-orc was clearly suspicious.

“He did mention something about bad dreams,” Essek replied. “I have no details on that, I am afraid.”

Fjord bit his lip, obviously holding back something specific, but Essek was distracted by the Cobalt Soul monk cracking her neck before giving him a serious look. 

“Came across a mention of something, and I’m kinda glad you’re here.” She tapped the book in front of her.

Essek moved to the table to look over her shoulder at the volume on the table. “Realm of Dreaming, in translation!” he read. “Where did you find this?”

“Caleb picked it up a couple weeks back,” Beau noted. “Here’s the thing: it mentions this?” She pointed to a particular passage. “I’ve never heard of it before.”

Essek took up the book, treating it with a bit more respect than she had been, read the paragraphs in question, then flipped back to the beginning of the chapter and skimmed the whole. “That is... interesting.” 

“You know what is it is?”

Essek passed the tome back. “Well yes, a little.” Beauregard rolled her hands as though to push him to be more forthcoming, so he explained. “A dream seed is a programmable, single use iteration spell, usually bound to a particular plant’s seed. My people use a meditative state, so we don’t need sleep or dreaming, per se, so they are only rarely used, in the cases of children of other races who suffer night terrors, or otherwise struggle to find restful sleep.”

“Programmable how?” Jester asked.

“Simple psionic imprinting of visualised cues.” He looked around the room, “The practitioner visualises the desired dream matter and then acts to impress that onto the seed. They are very helpful as treatments for those who struggle with finding restful repose.”

Fjord glared at him, his arms crossed tensely. “And of course, you have the skills to do this, am I right?”

Essek’s eyes widened in surprise at the accusation, but before he could refute the half-orc’s claim, Beauregard shook her head. “No, the book says it’s clerical,” she tapped the page. “I don’t think you had anything to do with this.”

The Drow exhaled carefully, unaware he’d been holding his breath in the tension of the room. “Thank you, you are correct.”

“Do you know anyone who might have?” Beau asked, and Essek’s agile mind was already focussed on this, more key question, but the adventurers lacked his intent.

“It is a Kryn thing, then?” Jester asked, leaning over Beau’s other shoulder to look at the page she was indicating.

“Er, yes, well no, not exactly,” Essek equivocated, “It’s an ancient technique, from long before there was a Dynasty.” 

“Old magic,” Yasha spoke up from the doorway, surprising everyone, as no one had heard or seen her arrive. 

“Wait, so, you said programmable.” Beau inserted. “Like, so these were used to help kids sleep and have good dreams, but they could be used to trigger nightmares, right?”

“Honestly, I had never heard of that sort of use, but as I am a mage, this is not my department.” He gestured to Caduceus and Jester separately. “Your clerics would be better able to assess the turning of something meant to heal to a more... malign purpose.”

“It’s certainly possible.” Jester said sadly. “I mean, I don’t know the specific spell, but... yeah. Lots of what we can do does that.”

Caduceus nodded his agreement. “I don’t know how things work for your folks, but our gods like us to be able to defend, uh...”

“Effectively,” Fjord supplied.

“Yeah, effectively.”

“If you think a dream seed is involved here,” Essek said, “That brings brings up a lot more questions-”

“Yeah,” Beauregard interrupted, “I appreciate the insight, Essek, but we got this from here.”

Essek felt the very unpleasant and sadly familiar feeling of the Mighty Nein closing their ranks, locking him out. He met all their eyes, and nodded his acceptance of this new detente. Rebuilding a friendship took time, he realised this, but it did not hurt any less. 

Fjord escorted him out of the library to the front door, while the others leaned in and looked over the book. At the door, the half-orc stopped Essek just as he moved to open the door. “Listen, I know you have something going on with Caleb.”

The Drow raised an eyebrow and gave the man an inquiring look. “I am trying to rebuild something... precious to me.” 

“Rebuild, huh?” Fjord scowled. “Not from what I’ve seen. You are trying to change the parameters. I’m just telling you, it’s a bad plan, it’s a bad play. Now is not the time.”

Essek’s eyes were wide, thoroughly shocked. “I beg your pardon-”

“Not my pardon you need, Shadowhand.” Fjord corrected him. “I’m just saying.” He made a pointed look up the stairs and then back to the Drow.

Essek closed his mouth, almost but not completely comprehending the warlock’s point. “Is this about... Caleb?”

“Yeah.”

He tried. He really did. But he had no idea what Fjord’s various facial expressions and hand gestures were trying to convey. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”

Fjord sucked in an exasperated breath. “You need to back off him,” he stated. “Last thing he needs is... complications.”

Essek took this in, still quite confused. “He came to me, Fjord,” he tried to explain, “He had only just realised he was out, defenseless, as he’d left his supplies here. I just brought him home.”

“Yeah. Sure ya did.”

Essek straightened. “I did. As soon as I could. He is in no state to be out!”

Fjord dropped his gaze in the face of Essek’s adamant statements and he sighed, letting his intimidating posture drop. “Yeah, we know.”

“I fail to understand what you were trying to imply, but I assure you, Fjord, I would never bring him to harm.”

The half-orc met Essek’s violet gaze. “I believe you. Just saw you, you know, get personal with him the other day, and he wasn’t into it.”

The light dawned on the Drow and he sucked in a chagrinned breath. “Oh. That.” Essek felt the heat rise in his face, “Yes, I misread... things.”

Fjord’s eyebrows climbed toward his hairline. “Mister Perfect misread a situation?” His tone was teasing, but gentle.

Essek’s smile was wry and self-deprecating. “I seem to misread a lot around your group.”

Fjord grinned, and then opened the door for the Shadowhand, and gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder as he made his way out. Essek was strangely comforted by the heavy-handed gesture. 

He raised himself into his customary altitude as he made his way out into the streets of Rosohna. In light of Beauregard’s intimation about the dream seed as being a possible root of the human wizard’s current issues, Essek did not return to his home, but instead made his way to the Marble Tomes, to see what sorts of resources he could bring to bear on the problem.


	16. Mom's Mad

Caleb sat on the window seat, shoulders slumped and chest hollow. The tall window at his back made him look so much smaller. Veth paced in front of him, back and forth, frenetic with the anxiety of the previous hour’s worry, from when they had discovered Caleb’s absence to his sudden return with the Shadowhand, Essek Thelyss. Veth paced and Caleb sunk deeper into himself, numbly awaiting the lecture he knew was coming. 

She started pretty strong. “What the actual fuck, Caleb?!”

He wilted even further under the barrage of bad language and genuine concern, on top of the weight of his own exhaustion. He did not even try to respond, just let Veth vent.

“I came over to work out a plan with Beau, you were not where she’d left you, and the last time anyone had seen you was three hours ago! Caleb, you fucking idiot, anything could have happened to you! Three hours! None of us even knew you were gone!”

He tried to interject that he hadn’t been out three hours, not even one, but the tide of invective just rolled over his mumbled attempt. 

“I mean, fuck! What if something had happened? None of us with any clue... Why didn’t you tell anyone where you were? Actually, why did you even leave? I mean it’s generally a bad idea for you to be out by yourself, have you not noticed we don’t like it when you do that? You are...” her voice trailed off when she saw he’d drawn his legs up into his chest and was resting his face in his hands, his eyes still staring into an internal void. “Caleb?”

He lifted his head, but would not meet her eyes. “Ja, Nott. I hear you,” then corrected himself, “Sorry, Veth.”

“Yeah, you are sorry alright. A sorry mess.” But the panic and anger was gone from her voice, leaving only anxiety and disappointment behind, which was, in a way, worse. Anger was to be expected, and it was deserved, he recognised that. But the pain of disappointing his friends was almost as hard to bear as their sympathy in the face of his struggles. “You can’t do that to us, okay? You scared the shit out of me, out of all of us.”

Caleb nodded wordlessly but still could not meet her gaze. He has scared himself, finding himself out in the wider world with no defenses, and he had not yet recovered from the cortisol let down of that. 

“And leaving without your kit?” Veth continued. “That’s a real problem. At least if you have some things prepared, and your little bag of tricks, we aren’t going to worry too much...”

“I told you, it’s locked away. I cannot risk hurting you all.” His eyes fell on the bolt-blasted chair beside the bed, and his mind’s eye was once again filled with Caduceus’ death from his dream.

Veth’s tone softened as she saw his expression. “Caleb, you are not going to hurt us. Okay? You need to get that idea out of your head.”

Finally he met her eyes with his own, harrowed gaze. “If I could, I would, Veth, This is not so easy-”

“Yeah, I get it, I do,” the Halfling interrupted him, “But if you know you are, like this, compromised; not entirely, you know, sound of mind, maybe you could listen to us?”

He inhaled deeply, but his exhale was shaky. “It was a walk, Veth, just to clear my head. Get out of the house for a few moments. I just forgot...”

“You?” Veth said. “You ‘forgot’? Caleb, I’ve known you for years. You don’t forget anything.”

“That is not... I mean, it isn’t like that.” He began to get more agitated, as he tried to explain, “I did not put on my pouches, I was just in the library, and after I needed to... to breathe-”

Veth put a warm hand on his knee. “Look, I’m sorry, I was just... we were all very worried. You’ve been such a mess, Caleb, and just... anything could have happened to you.”

Caleb scrubbed at his face. “I know, I know, and I am not okay, so... ich habe es versteht. I am sorry for worrying anyone.”

Veth sat beside him on the bench seat, and laid a calming hand on him. “Breathe, Caleb.”

He drew in a few breaths, slowly and as steadily as he could manage. “I am trying, Veth.”

“Very,” she agreed, with a deep and frustrated sigh.


	17. Digging In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Essek and Beauregard form an odd dream team.

Essek moved through the various chambers of the Marble Tomes, gliding his usual few inches off the gleaming floors, with a small army of assistants behind him, carrying tome and codex, ink and paper. None of them saw through his well-practiced facade, that his heart was heavy with worry and self-recrimination. He directed them to his study, a comfortable series of chambers in the eastern most tower of the Tomes. Once his supplies and resources had been assembled, he sent all the lackeys on their way and began a determined systematic search for any real information on the specific spell he feared was being used on his friend. 

At the same time, Beauregard was attempting to access the considerable resources at her disposal, through the extensive research libraries of the Cobalt Soul in Zadash. These assets had been very useful over the course of her association with the Might Nein, and she had several questions to direct to the various researchers at her command. //This Expositor shit is way useful.//

Unfortunately the day's work was not of much benefit to her, and Beau needed to blow off some steam in the training room before heading home. As soon as word hit the training floor that the infamous Expositor was taking on all comers, she had no shortage of challengers. For all that she needed the physical activity, it was sadly unsatisfying, and Beau made her way back to the Xhorhaus via the circle at the Bastion. The walk across the nighted city was uneventful, until she encountered the Dynasty’s Shadowhand approaching from the driection of the Marble Tomes.

“Greetings, Beauregard,” Essek said softly, gliding up to her. The monk raised her eyebrows at his levitation, but she said nothing. “I was just heading to your home.”

“So I see,” she noted, "I’m just getting back from the Archive.” 

They approached the door, and Essek held back to allow his host to gesture him in.

Once inside, the Drow mage made his confession. “I know you said not to, but... I am, in some ways, insatiable for understanding. I spent the day looking for more information.” 

Beau cracked her knuckles. “Yeah, well, I drew like a whole shit-ton of nothing, so...” She eyed his elevation again, and he quirked an apology as he lowered his feet to the floor of the XhorHaus. “Did you learn anything?”

“Quite a bit,” he replied, “And I think it will be useful.” Unable to hide his eagerness, they made their way up to the library, and he pulled out a narrow sheaf of notes from his ethereal pocket, laid out his findings for her. He tapped the top sheet of vellum. “Your angelic friend is absolutely correct. Dream seeds are an ancient magic, from well before the Calamity.”

“And clearly not always benign, according to these accounts,” she noted, reading the pages as Essek slid the relevant sheets to her.

The Drow mage nodded, his dark face somber. “I cannot answer as to who would do this to... our friend, but perhaps we are closer to understanding how.”

Beauregard rubbed the inert mark on the back of her hand, hidden under her wrist wrapping, as she looked over Essek’s precise notes. A flash of memory of unsafe dreams over the whole confrontation with the Eyes of Nine and the Somnovum, she realised they were likely dealing with some kind of aftermath of that climactic series of events. “Actually, I’m pretty clear on the who,” she said quietly, “I just didn’t think they were still active on the field.”

“Do you need... anything from me, to help...?” His voice was tentative, but when she met his violet eyes, the offer was sincere, and careful for the right reasons.

“Yeah,” she accepted the offer, “We need to find this thing.”

Essek considered which skill would be most useful. “Hm. They do not fall into the standard arcana ordering system, and can be very hard to trace as a result, especially as they are single iteration: once used, the seed is just a seed.” He flicked through his mental spell-list and chose a working. “Alright!” Essek drew a breath and quickly cast a simple detection spell. The afterglow of unlight from the quickly-cast sigil faded from view. “I have an hour of this enhancement. Where do you think-”

Beauregard led him up the stairs to Caleb’s chamber. She did not even knock before unlatching and entering. “So far as we have tracked,” she informed him as she beckoned him in, “Here’s the only place he’s had the nightmares.”

Essek hesitated before entering, aware that this was a threshold he had not thought to cross. A wizard’s room is a sanctum, and to be invited in by the owner is a mark of real trust. This was not the circumstance Essek had thought to make this step, and he knew the trust between them was still extremely fragile. “Will he be alright with this, with my being... here?”

Beau gave him an assessing look, then rolled her eyes. “I’m sure it’s not how he’d hoped to-” she cut herself off, aware her innuendo would not help the situation, “I mean, you can stay outside if you want but if these things are that hard to find, you might want to come in.”

The Drow swallowed the hard facts and making his choice, stepped over the stone lintel. Caleb’s room was neat, but there were some small signs of the bitter nights he had been facing. Essek noted an acid stain on the floor, a bolt-damaged chair, and a faint smell of char in the still, late afternoon air. The bed was tidy, a familiar robe hung neatly on the bedpost that gave him a tiny glow of happiness to note. The clothes press was snugly closed, the candle wicks all neat and trimmed: it was as precise a room as he would have expected of his friend. The only signs of disarray were on the window seat, where a pillow was crumpled to the floor and the cushions and throws were rumpled. Essek noted the quilted, much mended, but comfortable nature of the decor, the utilitarian lines of the furniture, but saved those thoughts to consider later.

The heavy four-poster bed had a built-in bookshelf for a headboard, and Essek was not surprised to note several specific stacks of books, none of which had a hint of magic to them. Caleb was an inveterate reader, a rare hungry mind, and at the recognition of another kindred spirit, a small smile quirked at Essek’s mouth before he drew in a breath and redirected his attention through the detection spell. 

As he slid his enhanced gaze over the room, he noted only faint signs of different schools of magic, trace bits of arcane dust, familiar to him from his own working spaces in his home and in the Lucid Bastion. He had cast the detection at a fairly high level, wanting to maximise his chances of finding the object they sought, and as such these remnants were not unsurprising to find. Each school of magic had a distinctive aura, a colour seen only through such augmented vision. Reminding himself what they were seeking, Essek ignored the known colours, other than a faint grin at the traces of the deep ultramarine remnants of Dunamantic spellwork: every teacher enjoyed a dedicated student, and Caleb was clearly the most diligent of pupils.

Dismissing the known hues from his perceptions, he concentrated on the odd flicker and glow, and directed Beauregard to investigate. “Under the left edge of the bed, near the chair...”

Beau bent low and looked, seeing nothing at first, until Essek sent a mauve ball of light under the bed to assist her human vision. She saw a smattering of dust and debris, but then also a scattering of some small things. She knelt and was about to reach her hand under when the Drow mage stopped her. “Careful... probably better not to touch whatever it is.” He offered her a scrap of fine cloth, and she covered the little heap before scooping it up.

As she rose to her feet again, a flick of her wrist moved the edge of the cloth back so they could see the contents of her hand. A small collection of seeds, no one larger than her pinky fingernail, met their eyes. Essek’s enhanced vision showed them glowing an aetherial misty grey. 

“This is it?” Beauregard sounded doubtful, her lip curling up at the tiny pile in her hand. “So small to have cause this much of a problem.”

Essek's brows lowered as he looked over the pile of seeds on the square of silk in the monk's hand. "This is definitely the source, near as I can tell. I will want to investigate them further, of course." He met Beauregard's eyes, and she gave him a nod of acceptance for his assistance. The small growth in trust bolstered him.

"So what do we do with them?"

Essek investigated briefly, stepping through the archway into Caleb’s workroom. This space sparkled with magic, in all its myriad hues. The locked cabinet of components, the desk with its neat stack of parchment and inks, and the tidy pyramid of scroll cases, all the cubbyholes of various tinkerings... Essek could easily get lost in the kaleidoscope of arcane glimmerings through his enhanced sight. He made a quick perusal of the window shelf and he retrieved an empty, small glass jar.

Returning to Beauregard, he popped the seal on the jar and gestured for her to deposit the offending seeds into it. They landed with a miniscule, harmless tinkle. Essek gestured back to where they had been found. “See if there are anymore?”

Beau made a thorough check, found one more, and carefully placed it in the jar as well. Once they had ensured the whole space was clear of the miasmic seeds, Beau felt herself release tension she hadn’t known she had been holding. They exited, and carefully closed the door behind them.

“Where is..?” Essek asked, as they made their way down the stairs. 

“Oh, he popped me over to Zadash this morning and then headed to Nicodranas for the day,: Beau answered. “He, Jester and Fjord had some errands to run.”

“Ah,” Essek murmured, not really trying to hide his disappointment. He lifted the little jar of dangerous seeds, “Let him know, when he returns then, that I have these. I am sure he’d like to investigate further.”

“Will do.” Beauregard paused at the door. “And hey, listen, Essek. Thank you. That was really helpful.”

Essek experienced a sudden pulse of jubilation, that he actually felt himself on the path to winning back some larger part of the trust he had squandered. “I... You are all very welcome. I would do-” he silenced his confession and took a slow breath to steady himself, “I am happy to be of any assistance.”

He made his way home lightly, as though he were no longer carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.


End file.
